


The Way to a Man's Heart

by TetrodotoxinB



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (the bee cult), ALL CAPS, Adorable awkward kissing, Anal Sex, Angst, Attempted Suicide (past), Belonging, Bucky Feels, Canon-Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-compliant to post CACW, Caretaking, Comic book medicine/science, Cuddling, Depression, Disordered Eating, Disordered thinking, Emotional Support, Everybody is a good battle buddy, Family, Feeding Tubes, Food/eating, Friends to Lovers, Hand Feeding, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Intervention, Light Bondage, Lots of handwavy fade-to-black sex, M/M, M/M/M sex, Medical Procedures, OT3, Polyamory, Post CACW, Post Captain America: Civil War, Psychological shock, References to past illness, Sam Feels, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex, Steve Feels, Suicidal behaviors (past), Suicidal ideation (past), Therapy and mental health treatment, Threesome, Torture (various methods), Vomiting, Which is different from eating disorders, alcohol use, angst with happy ending, handjobs, operant conditioning, smut!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 01:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 53,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11840889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: Bucky wakes up from cryo in Wakanda eight months after the Accords and the fracturing of the Avengers. With the collective scientific genius of Stark, Banner, and Pym, Bucky has the priming sequence erased permanently from his mind. No longer the Winter Soldier, and having been cleared of his crimes following a dissolution of the Accords, Bucky returns to the states to try his hand at a normal life, or at least at doing good in the world. That normalcy is shattered when, after a mission gone wrong, some of Bucky’s conditioning reasserts itself and he’s forced to start back at square one. Bucky fights the physical and mental pain of his conditioning to learn to eat again after years of never being allowed solid food by HYDRA. At the same time, Steve is forced to confront his longest held beliefs. Through all of it, Bucky, Sam, and Steve fall together in different ways as they are forced to face their troubles and their pasts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story by TetrodotoxinB and art by [TheRothwoman](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRothwoman/pseuds/TheRothwoman) and [ICouldDoThisAllDay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icoulddothisallday/pseuds/icoulddothisallday)
> 
> A/N: I started wondering about Bucky and his weight changes between Winter Soldier and Civil War and what could be behind that. I was also wondering why we so frequently see Bucky with and IV when HYDRA is working on him. This is what came of those wonderings. 
> 
> Acknowledgements: I have so many people to thank for the completion of this story. First and foremost is Dreadnought, who spent countless hours reading, editing, making comments, writing me emails, chatting with me, and tolerating my general nonsense. Without his insight and help, this story wouldn’t have happened.
> 
> I also want to thank Ladra for jumping in to check for spelling, grammar, punctuation, and other mechanical mistakes. She jumped in when time was short and did a quick, thorough, and professional job. 
> 
> And then there’s the people of the Slack. There are so, so many folks there who encouraged me, gave me feedback, and called me on my bullshit. I’ve made friends there that I hope to keep for years. Writing this would not have been half as fun without their companionship.

Bucky had two years to himself before the world caught up to him again. 

A small apartment. Learning basic life skills -- grocery shopping, doing laundry, cooking -- all over again. Privacy and quiet. Catching up on the last seventy years that he hadn’t been a part of was much less normal and much more difficult. 

The sensory input threatened to overwhelm him some days. There was just so much now. His enhanced hearing picked up on every ringing cell phone, every mp3 player, even the blinking and singing children’s toys snatched his attention. People always seemed to be in a rush -- on foot, on bikes, on motorcycles, and in cars -- and Bucky felt at times like the world was a carnival ride moving so fast that he couldn’t quite jump on. For someone who needed to always be aware of available routes of egress and potential threats, the world itself felt like a threat. 

To combat this, because Bucky had long since accepted that everything would end in combat, he developed routines. Not predictable, get you caught and sent back to HYDRA kind of routines, but simple things. Morning calisthenics. Cooking breakfast. Sweeping the apartment. Cleaning his guns. Reading. Cooking lunch. Honing his knives, throwing them at targets on the wall, and then honing them again. Easy tasks that were almost meditative in their nature. Over time the repetition, the practice, meant that these tasks were now easy. New tasks could be added. And slowly, over a year, and then two, Bucky felt like he might have the hang of it all. Of just doing normal things like a normal person. No blood. No killing. No ice. No blinding pain at the end of it.

Except, of course, there was. 

There was Steve looking furious and wounded all at once. Bucky knew he would be mad when he finally found him, or when Bucky finally went back, but Steve had no right to make him feel bad for this small peace. 

But in the end, Bucky didn’t bother to figure out who had what right, because it didn’t matter -- his new life was still gone. Bucky watched the quiet and the almost-peace of his new existence run through his fingers like sand. Watched blood stain his callouses and under his nails and between the plates of his hand. Watched his life disintegrate again.

In the end, going back under seemed almost like rest, if only to get away from Steve and the guilt and the danger. He knew that, if nothing else, it would give Steve time to process and that the hard reset from cryo would dampen some of the sting of the Bucharest, Berlin, and Siberia.

Waking up though, it always seemed like it was just the blink of an eye, never the rest he needed or the escape he hoped for. He tried to tell himself that at least this time there was something good at the end of it. 

Having the trigger words wiped from his mind wasn’t what he would call fun. Pym, Banner, and Stark, of all people, convened in Wakanda. There were lots of brain scans, and eventually he found himself secured into another chair. It seemed to be a theme in his life that he was ready to be done with.

Bucky closed his mouth and tried to breathe through his nose to stem the rush of panic. He knew that this endeavor was for his benefit alone. If they wanted the Winter Soldier neutralized, they could have done that while he was still in cryo. Instead, they had woken him and were trying to fix him. But letting a room of potential hostiles attach EEG and EKG leads, place an IV, and restrain him all while Tony Stark flitted around the room was one more thing than he could deal with calmly. 

Pym and Banner fitted a helmet-like thing to his head and apologetically tightened it down with screws. Bucky breathed through the initial bite as the screws seated themselves into the bone and made the reasonable assumption that concern for his comfort was not high on the priority list. His theory was confirmed by Pym, who indelicately explained that once they got started, the screws would be a mercy, if only by comparison.

When Banner offered Bucky the bite guard, it took everything he had not to vomit on the spot, but he opened his mouth for what he hoped would be the last time and let it settle between his teeth.

As T’Challa read the trigger words, the monitoring halo in the helmet pinpointed the exact nerve clusters associated with each word. The activated synapses were then neatly destroyed by a configuration of finely tuned lasers, leaving Bucky in control of his own mind. 

Before they let Bucky go, T’Challa reread the words several times to check that the triggers had been completely removed. When Bucky failed to prime for orders, he let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. The relief he felt was breathtaking. He shuddered as the screws were loosened and the restraints were released. He felt unmoored and floating, like having the trigger words removed somehow rid him of a physical burden. 

As he was lifted from the chair to a bed, he registered wetness on his face. It took a moment to recognize that wetness as tears. 

People flitted around him, and a Wakandan nurse gently brushed his tears away with murmured reassurances. Eventually, the bustle died down and he was left to rest after his ordeal.

*****

It was a while later, after a decent nap, that Bucky woke up to Stark rummaging around the lab, swearing about the 3/32 inch socket that he _just_ set down.

“How do you feel?”

Bucky’s head throbbed angrily, and when he turned to face Banner, the motion brought a wave of nausea. “Fine.”

Banner arched an eyebrow and put the tablet he was holding on the foot of the bed. “Hmm. I would have thought you’d have a migraine, but alright. I guess you don’t need these then.” 

Banner picked up a little paper cup from the counter, and the pills inside it clacked around as he shook it.

“Alright, not completely fine,” Bucky admitted.

Thankfully, Banner handed over the pills and some water without any ribbing and went back to making notes on the tablet. Bucky was grateful that Banner wasn’t watching to see the effort it took for Bucky to put the pills in his mouth and swallow without gagging. After several minutes, Banner finally looked up, seemingly oblivious to Bucky’s pill-induced mini-crisis.

“Well, it’s been about eight months since your last meal. Got anything in mind?”

Bucky shrugged. “Protein shake. Maybe some applesauce.”

Banner looked down and poked the tablet some more. “Nauseated?”

Bucky tried to nod before realizing that the eight acetaminophen hadn’t kicked in yet. He doubted they would. “Yeah, just a bit.”

“Gimme a few. I’ll go snag you some chow,” Banner said as he set the tablet on the side table.

After the door to the lab clicked shut, Bucky realized, rather uncomfortably, that he was alone in a room with Stark. Watching the tension Stark carried as he worked, he was suddenly very aware of how poorly things had gone the last time they were in a room together. Logically, Bucky knew that Stark posed no threat. The fact that Stark had bothered to design the equipment to deprogram Bucky and had then elected to come help had to count for something, he figured. What exactly it counted for, however, remained to be seen. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait too long.

Addressing Bucky without actually seeming to, Stark started talking while he worked. “Hey so, while you were out, I took the liberty of going over the scans of your arm assembly. Most of it is completely integrated -- nervous system, skeletal, muscular, even circulatory -- so the parts of the prosthesis that are left can’t be safely removed, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t replace the part that I fucked up. I think this model will be significantly easier for you to use with the added bonus of no punishment protocols, drug reservoirs, or tracking hardware embedded in the arm. I spent a couple months dissecting your other arm, so I’m relatively sure that with a couple days work, we can get the new model fully calibrated and integrated with your existing set up. So when you’re up for it, or, rather, _if_ you’re up for it, I guess I should ask if you even-”

“Stark.”

Stark glanced up and, for the first time since Siberia, made eye contact. He looked like he was on the verge of an anxiety attack. “Yeah?”

“Where’s the bathroom?” Bucky asked, pointing at the IV as if to explain.

Relief seemed to settle over Stark as he pointed to a door across the room. Bucky nodded and managed to sit up and swing his legs over the edge of the bed before dizziness and nausea washed over him. He leaned forward and took measured breaths. Before he could fully recover, Stark appeared by the bed.

“Lemme give you a hand, old man.”

Bucky subtly watched Stark’s face without lifting his head. This was not something he wanted, but he didn’t want to piss his pants either, and it was rapidly becoming apparent that he couldn’t walk to save his life right now. 

“Thanks.”

Stark nodded and helped drag the IV stand over, so Bucky could get a hand on it, before fitting his shoulder up under the remaining stump of Bucky’s left arm. Grabbing Bucky’s right hip in the most clinical way possible, Stark hauled him to his feet. They shuffled silently across the lab and into the bathroom. By some unspoken agreement Stark held Bucky upright and gazed off over his left shoulder into middle space while Bucky relieved himself. 

When their mission had been completed and Bucky was settled back in the bed, he turned to Stark, who was uncomfortably hovering by his feet.

“Why?” Bucky asked.

The question could have a million different meanings, but at the moment it didn’t need any clarification.

“Because I was wrong. I had no right to blame you or Rogers or anybody but HYDRA. I know it wasn’t your fault; I knew it then. And believe me when I tell you, _everyone_ has let me know just how wrong I was.”

Bucky shook his head with less throbbing than before. “Don’t worry about it. Probably would have done the same, if it was my folks. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Stark fidgeted and looked around the room before answering. “Like I said, wasn’t your fault.”

“I still did it. Has to count for something.”

“Do you just want me to hate you?” Tony paused and watched Bucky’s face for a response. “Oh, you do. Ha, well, too bad then. I tried it. Didn’t work out real well for anybody.”

Bucky made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh and looked away. He didn’t know how to process that particular response. He didn’t think it was his fault; he knew well that the choice had never been his to make. But he was certain that, on some level, he was responsible. That someone else could so easily absolve him of that undermined some of his most strongly held beliefs.

“Anyway, it’s all settled,” Stark said, startling Bucky out of his thoughts. “Everyone’s off the hook for Romania and Germany and Russia and whatever other European countries we damaged. That includes you, too, now that you’re not the Manchurian Candidate anymore.”

Bucky turned back to Stark. “How, and why me?”

Stark stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like he wished he was somewhere else.

“Well, for starters, the Accords turned out to be a terrible idea. Don’t worry, Rogers already said ‘told you so’ about eight times. Anyway, as soon we weren’t there to clean up at the drop of a hat, things got out of hand. It wasn’t two whole months before the Accords were dissolved at the request of nearly every country who signed in the first place. 

“And for your other question: why you? Well, why not you? You know that giant file dump that ended SHIELD? Yeah, it came in handy when it came to you. A little well directed digging, some suddenly discovered files in an abandoned base, a few easily led journalists, and ‘oh look who’s just a victim of circumstance.’ After that, the VFW and a couple of ex-POW groups took it to Washington. The DOJ folded under the public pressure citing ‘coercion’ and ‘extenuating circumstances’ and they dropped all charges. It was surprisingly easy. If you ask, I’ll bet they’ll even give you back pay. Steve got his. Though, I do have to admit, I was a little disappointed that it didn’t take more effort, considering.”

Bucky didn’t look like he agreed, but he nodded anyway. “So, what now? Am I expected to go back Stateside?”

Stark shrugged. “You’re not expected to go anywhere that I’m aware. I mean, I’m sure that Rogers might have an opinion on the matter, but there’s nothing official.” 

With the mention of Steve, Bucky’s already somewhat confused expression shifted slightly towards grief. 

“Steve?” Bucky finally asked.

Steve’s absence had been the first thing that Bucky noticed. But Bucky felt that asking about him would have been giving himself away, as though his curiosity at Steve’s whereabouts might somehow have been a sign of his fear and vulnerability. Now, after the procedure, it felt like so much had already been given away that it didn’t seem like it mattered.

“He’s on his way. He knew that we were working on a solution, but we didn’t want to get his hopes up, so we didn’t let him know about this until after we were sure it had worked. He and Wilson will probably be here in another twelve hours, give or take air traffic and the storm front on the Atlantic right now.”

Bucky nodded. Just the thought of Steve made his whole chest grow warm, some mix of affection and frustration. There was also definitely annoyance, because Bucky felt that Steve, even with the serum -- maybe especially with the serum -- needed someone to keep him from leaping headfirst into danger. Bucky hoped that Wilson had stepped in to fill that role, because the last time Steve went without a keeper for very long, he crashed a plane into the ocean and called it a “plan.”

Stark interrupted Bucky’s thoughts again. “So anyway, about your arm. I thought, since I broke the last one-”

The door opened and Banner stepped in with a small tray, loaded with applesauce cups and a meal replacement shake. 

“I see you two are bonding. And no blood, either. Color me impressed,” Banner quipped.

“As long as we don’t color you green,” Stark shot back without venom.

Banner chuckled. “Alright, Barnes, lunch is served,” he declared as he pushed the little hospital tray table over Bucky’s lap and arranged the offering. 

Bucky read the label of one of the bottles of meal replacer labelled “Ensure,” and shook it before deftly uncapping it with one hand.

“So you were talking about the arm?” Banner prodded.

“Yeah, I gave him the sales pitch, more or less, and we were getting to the part where we talk about installation,” Stark explained.

Banner and Stark went back and forth with the technobabble for a while, intermittently asking Bucky if he understood and getting consent. For the most part, Bucky followed what he deemed to be the salient parts of the rather one-sided conversation. 

When Banner asked if and when Bucky would like to proceed, he answered, “Well if you’re ready, I’d like to do it now.”

“Now? You’ve already had a pretty rough day, and this won’t be a walk in the park,” Banner reminded him. 

Bucky nearly rolled his eyes. He’d undergone various operations and procedures without anesthesia over the decades and, while it wasn’t something he easily forgot, he could manage the pain just fine. If anesthesia and nerve blocks would muddle the feedback that the EEG got, then doing it without pain medication was a trial worth undertaking, if only to have a well-functioning arm again. He took solace in the fact that nothing could be as bad as the first time his arm was replaced. 

“Yeah, you made that part clear, but unless Steve has stopped all the dramatic hovering he does, it’s not gonna be fun to have him around when this gets unpleasant.”

Bucky’s reasoning was pretty solid. Steve breathing down their necks while Bucky screamed through an elective medical procedure at the hands of the person responsible for the problem in the first place wasn’t something anyone wanted. Steve could be demanding and confrontational, if he wanted to be, and after Romania and then Germany and then Siberia, no one was about to test where Steve’s loyalties lay or how far he would go to prove it.

“Alright, no more food for you, then,” Banner declared as he repossessed the remainder of the open shake as well as the rest of the unopened food. “How much time do you need Tony? I can get my end ready to go in about an hour.”

“Hour should be fine.”

Banner nodded. “I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, try and catch some sleep.”

Bucky couldn’t imagine sleeping right then, but it proved easier than expected once Banner dosed him sky high with benzos. The effect didn’t last more than a few minutes, but by then Bucky had relaxed enough to go to sleep. When he did wake up, it was to someone disconnecting the IV tubing from the catheter in his hand.

Momentarily free from the IV, Bucky shuffle-stumbled to the bathroom again, this time under his own steam, though not without an escort from the nurse. Once done, he was herded to the operating table, which was apparently brought in while he was asleep, rather than the recovery bed he had previously occupied. The nurse helped him out of his shirt, leaving him bare from the waist up, and then reconnected the IV tubing, which was now attached to a pump rather than a simple drip. A multitude of electrodes and wires were soon attached to his chest and head and, once everyone scrubbed in, a sterile field with drapes came together on his left side.

Bucky watched the ceiling as a nurse counted out supplies on a tray next to him. A doctor of some sort introduced himself, but Bucky barely acknowledged him. Stark started talking to Bucky as he removed plating and interior components of the last arm, but rather than listen, he checked out entirely.

He finally realized that someone was calling his name when the same nurse who had wiped away his tears before gently shook him by the shoulder.

“James? James can you hear me?” she asked softly.

Bucky blinked and nodded. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

“It’s alright,” she soothed, rubbing his shoulder. “We’re about to get started. Are you ready?”

Bucky nodded and forced a smile. “I’m ready.”

“Great,” Banner interjected. “There are around ten major nerves we’re going to tie into. Each time we connect, you’re going to get a huge amount of initial feedback -- temperature, pressure, pain, chemodetection, and so forth. It should pass within a few seconds. The fun part comes when we turn on the arm the first time. Your arm’s circuits and your EEG are routed to a computer right now. We’ll use that info to calibrate the feedback your arm provides so that it doesn’t always send you an overload of sensation, but to do that we’re going to have to run some test feedback cycles. We should be able to switch off the pain after a few trials, but we have to repeat that for each nerve that we tie in. Basically, we’re going to start low and overload each nerve to gauge the range of sensation. Can you black out from pain?”

Bucky shook his head slightly. “No.”

Banner nodded and inhaled through his nose. “Well, at least it’ll go faster that way. You can ask for a break at any time, you control the pace.” Banner watched Bucky’s face for acknowledgement, and when he nodded once, Banner nodded in return. “Let’s get started.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how much he appreciated the perceptiveness of the comfort nurse regarding his aversion to the bite guard, but he couldn’t complain. She smiled knowingly as she settled a doubled-over length of rubber tubing between his teeth instead.

“Connecting the median nerve now,” Banner announced.

Bucky had a split second to brace himself before he felt every sensation he could imagine shoot through his shoulder. He managed to clench his jaw and ride it out without a sound or so much as a flinch. 

“You’re doing well, James,” the nurse murmured as he shuddered out a breath. 

Bucky ignored her and focused on breathing through his nose to make the best use of the oxygen cannula that he could. Before he felt even remotely ready, Banner moved on to the radial nerve. After the musculocutaneous, ulnar, and forearm medial cutaneous nerves, he lost count. His only clue that they were done with nerve attachments was the nurse gently holding his hand and rubbing his right arm. 

“Do you need a break, James?” she asked.

Bucky let his breathing recover before shaking his head. “Finish it,” he muttered around the tube between his teeth.

“That was the warm-up round. Round two isn’t gonna be so easy. Think you can hold still when it’s two or three times as bad?” Banner asked.

Bucky opened his mouth to reply and the nurse lifted the tube away. “Probably not,” he admitted.

“That’s fine. I couldn’t have held out through the first connection, so you’ll get no judgment from me. Tony’s got the suit here, and he can use that to keep you steady. You going to be alright with that?” Banner asked.

Stark cracked a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I won’t rip this arm off. Pinky promise.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, alright.” 

Stark flicked his wrist, and a suit clanged over to stand behind him. Bucky watched as the armor opened up and Stark stepped back in. It sealed up, and Bucky’s stomach turned at the sight. Just as the EKG began to pick up, though, Stark took off the faceplate and set it aside.

“You show me your soft, pink underbelly and I’ll show you mine?” he quipped.

Bucky rolled his eyes and then nodded at the nurse to put the rubber tubing back in his mouth. The nurse was forced to vacate the side of the bed to accommodate Stark and, after a fair bit of resituating, he rested his hands firmly against Bucky.

“Initiating nerve cycle one; ulnar nerve,” Pym announced from the controls.

Bucky could feel the nerves begin to respond and after ten seconds, he was clenching his jaw. After thirty seconds, he was panting and it took everything he had not to move. At fifty seconds, Bucky was screaming through his teeth and the repulsors and servos of the suit were whining as Stark forced Bucky to remain still. By the time the cycle finished at sixty seconds, Bucky was silent save for his ragged breathing. Stark let off, and the nurse crowded his side. 

She gently wiped Bucky’s face with a cool rag and held his hand. Still disoriented, Bucky clutched her hand gently in return. 

“James, can you hear me?” she asked softly. Her thumb rubbed the back of his hand while she waited. When his jaw unclenched and his eyes tracked to her, she carefully pulled the tubing free. 

“How many more times do we gotta do that?” he rasped.

“None, if you’re done,” Banner explained, “but to get accurate calibrations we’ll need at least two more full cycles just for that nerve.”

Bucky nodded his understanding. He let go of the nurse’s hand and pushed it out of his own, knowing that he would shatter every single bone if he held on once they got started again.

“What are we waiting for?” Bucky finally replied.

*****

After the initial calibration cycles were over, they managed to shut off nearly seventy percent of the pain response. Once Bucky indicated that he was alright on his own, Stark immediately vacated Bucky’s personal space, and the nurse returned to offer kind reassurances and gentle touches.

They ran numerous follow-up cycles for various receptor responses over the next hour and a half before Banner finally called it. No matter how badly Bucky needed it, he wasn’t going to tap out. 

“We’re going to break for today. I think your brain and nerves are all shot to hell. We can reconvene tomorrow.”

Bucky nodded, and the nurse gently pried the tube from his mouth. While the doctors and scientists packed up the area and slowly filed away, Bucky’s nurse carefully peeled the leads off of his skin. An orderly rolled the recovery bed over and brought Bucky a change of clothes for his sweat soaked hospital pants. At first, Bucky had tried to insist that he could take care of himself by changing his own clothes. It became immediately apparent, however, that he could do no such thing. Between the orderly and the nurse, the two of them helped Bucky into his new clothes and onto the other bed, which they moved to a room containing no lab equipment and no scientists. Bucky knew that the nurse was aware of his anxiety, but he was nonetheless grateful for her consideration. 

The orderly bustled off for supplies while the nurse got Bucky a bedside urinal and set up the bed enough that he could take care of himself. The orderly returned with a stack of gel ice packs around the time that Bucky got himself decent again. The nurse waved off the orderly, who took the used urinal bottle with him, and then it was only the two of them.

She hummed softly while she packed his shoulder in ice packs and propped him with pillows until there wasn’t any undue pressure on any particular place. As she doted on him and he lay there, for lack of any other actionable option, he felt so sure that this was a mistake. It had been so long since anyone had touched him without purpose or reason. On one level, Bucky _knew_ that he deserved some measure of comfort, but after everything he had done, he had trouble believing it. 

When everything was arranged just so, the nurse brought a rolling cart of shakes and easy-to-eat snacks. She asked if he needed anything else, and his only request was to be left alone for a while. She smiled understandingly and left.

Alone, Bucky tried to reconcile his feelings and beliefs with how easily she offered him care, comfort, and reassurances like she would to any other person. When his mental calisthenics came to nothing after several minutes, he began to review the list of stuck points he had developed in Romania. His solo attempts at cognitive processing therapy, something he had scrounged off the internet after a little research, had gotten him through quite a few of his stuck points, mostly through brute force. But some of the more entrenched ones remained. 

_I am unlovable._

_I am irredeemable._

Of all of his stuck points, those seemed the most relevant. As he mentally ran down leads on those, he suddenly realized that he might be the only person who believed it. Banner, Pym, T’Challa, and even Stark clearly believed neither of those. Logically, it was much more realistic that he, rather than everyone else, was wrong in his assessment of himself. He couldn’t quite believe it yet, but the hope that he might be lovable and redeemable settled strongly in his chest. 

While he enjoyed more hope than he had entertained in the last two years, he let the exhaustion of the day pull him under.

*****

By the time Steve arrived, Bucky was sitting up and using his new hand to fumble the lid off of another bottle of Ensure, the consumption of which Stark had already cracked no fewer than four “old man” jokes about.

Bucky’s head hurt like he’d been dragged under a truck for a few miles, and his whole left side burned with a fury, but the spark of hope that he was carrying from earlier flared to life at the sight of Steve. Above all else, Bucky wanted to be redeemed and loved in the eyes of Steve. No one else quite understood Bucky the way Steve could. Bucky figured that meant that Steve was uniquely qualified to know just how much of himself he had lost in the past seventy years.

“Hey, kid,” Bucky greeted.

Steve blushed and smiled. “Hey, Buck. How’s the new arm?”

“Still working out the bugs. New brain ain’t bad either. They fixed me right up,” Bucky answered with a lopsided smile that belied his pain.

“Glad to hear it. Stark’s been pretty focused lately on getting this right. I think he feels kind of bad about it.”

“We had our words. We’re good.” 

In all honesty, Bucky wasn’t sure he believed that he and Stark were fine, but now that he was in a recovery room away from Stark and all the lab equipment, it seemed easier to entertain the idea. It was also easier to say since Stark had actually fixed him up rather than take advantage of Bucky’s vulnerability.

Knowing that Steve needed to hear it helped, too.

Steve nodded. “I’m glad. Tony’s… complicated, but he’s a good guy. None of this would have ever happened if he hadn’t worked on it practically nonstop since Rhodey stopped letting him hover all day.”

“Yeah, he seems like he could be a bit focused at times,” Bucky agreed.

Another huffed laugh and a smile. “Yeah, kind of like Howard that way. Makes you a little uneasy, if you’re not used to it. Tony’s also wound a bit tighter than Howard, you might have noticed.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, I picked up on that.”

Looking at the floor, Steve stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m just glad to have you back this time, Buck.” He looked up and met Bucky’s eyes, “Back for real. We got so much to catch up on.”

Bucky was equal parts hopeful and hesitant. He knew that he wasn’t the same person Steve had gone AWOL to find, not even the same one that fell off the train, but by that same token, Steve wasn’t the same either. Bucky knew that they had to get to know each other all over again, but he wasn’t sure what that would mean in the long-term. He only hoped that his tone of voice mirrored the enthusiasm he thought he heard in Steve’s when he said, “Yeah, Stevie. We do.”

*****

The next few days involved little more than lab work, calibrations, and brain scans to ensure that the deprogramming stuck and that the arm integrated fully. For the most part, the experience was uncomfortable but boring. Bucky pretended to be annoyed that Steve displaced his comfort nurse by hovering over his shoulder at all times, but really it was nice to be constantly reminded that this wasn’t just another lab experiment to which he was expected to “comply.”

Steve reminded him to ask for breaks when he needed them, and when Bucky got a faraway look that meant that he had dissociated, Steve gently brought him back with softly spoken stories from before the war. Steve helped him cut his food when the new arm couldn’t quite calibrate to using utensils without putting them through the plate, and Steve helped him get to the bathroom and shower when his equilibrium was shot all to hell after another round of tests and scans. 

It reminded Bucky of Brooklyn when they were kids, and he used to help Sarah wipe Steve down after another fevered night where he sweated through his sleep clothes and all of the blankets on the bed. Bucky finally understood why Steve had always put up such a fight. It felt pathetic to be so weak and vulnerable, and it wasn’t even remotely dignified, but somehow being cared for soothed the raw edges of his insecurities. Because if Bucky’s insecurities were the questions posed by his stuck points, then Steve, Sam, and others were slowly turning into answers. The stuck points he couldn’t quite shake -- _unworthy, unlovable, irredeemable_ \-- were slowly being eroded by the others’ actions, and the sensation was like new skin, tender to the touch but finally on its way to being healed.

To his credit, Sam helped Steve “sit the hell down for five minutes before you end up in a bed right next to him.” Sam took up some slack -- helping Bucky around, smuggling in some decent food from a vending machine, or just sitting in quiet company -- when Steve was off doing something like eating or sleeping or being diplomatic with T’Challa. Bucky wasn’t sure about the science faction of the Avengers -- Banner, Pym, and Stark -- but when he counted his friends, he was sure that Sam was among them.

On the fifth day, Bucky was released from medical care. The scans and calibrations had been repeated ad nauseam until Bucky could pass every conceivable test with ease. As soon as he was free, Bucky returned to the guest suites that he, Sam, and Steve shared, with Sam in tow. He had already kicked Steve out of the lab as soon as the results were clear.

“Go sleep, you idiot,” Bucky ordered.

Steve had opened his mouth to argue, of course he had, but everyone else in the room had echoed Bucky’s words. Steve didn’t really have a leg to stand on, so he left as soon as he could get Sam to promise that he’d let him know if he was needed.

Bucky flopped gracelessly onto the sofa, and Sam went to the kitchenette for some juice.

“How do you put up with him?” Bucky asked as Sam walked back from the fridge. The question seemed fair, and after the last few days with Sam, Bucky could see why he and Steve got on so well. Something about Sam being a fellow military man, even generations apart, made him easier to understand and talk to.

Sam laughed and pulled over a chair from the table. “Man, I don’t know some days. He’s a handful.”

Bucky laughed but kept his eyes on the ceiling. “You got no idea. He was like this when he weighed a hundred and fifteen pounds. He’d fight these big guys -- assholes, all of them -- they’d be bothering some dame or something and Steve, he just had to set it right. You know how he gets with bullies.”

Sam nodded and chuckled, and Bucky continued. “Anyway, sometimes I’d bail him out of these fights if I was around, but mostly he just came home with bruises all over and his knuckles busted all to hell. It’s better now that he has the serum to back him up. At least you don’t have to worry about every Tom, Dick, and Harry kicking his ass six ways from Sunday.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a lot. I think I probably got an idea, though, chasing your ass around around the world six or seven times in the last couple of years. Not to mention, you know, HYDRA.”

Bucky chuckled. “He doesn’t know when to quit, even when it’s for his own good.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Sam agreed.

They sat in amicable silence for a long time, until Bucky’s curiosity got the better of him.

“How did he get his hooks in you?”

Sam shrugged. “I met him when I was out running. We were running the damn Mall in DC, and the sonofabitch lapped me about eight times in thirty minutes. We talked a couple times and then, when the shit with Project Insight went down, dude shows up at my house with Nat looking for a place to lay low. I’m a sucker and couldn’t turn down Captain America, so I said yes. It just went to hell from there.”

Bucky snorted. “It always does with him, but he makes you like the trip.”

“I know, man. I know,” Sam said with a laugh. After a pause, Sam must have let his curiosity get the better of him. “He talked about you a lot when we were searching. Still talks about you, and there’s lots of speculation. I know it was different then, but were you two ever, uh…?” Sam waved his hand like the vague gesture should make it clear. Bucky raised an eyebrow and Sam gave in.“Together?”

Bucky got a good throaty laugh out of that. “No. You’d think it now, though, but it wasn’t like that. We were close, sure, but me and Steve only had eyes for the ladies. Well, that and justice, honor, and pursuit of the American Dream, but that last bit was mostly just Steve.”

Sam chuckled. “Ah, well there’s a lot of porn out there dedicated to y’all, if you know what I mean. Couldn’t help but be curious.”

Bucky blushed slightly around his ears and smiled. “Steve and I weren’t ever together like that, but they still wouldn’t be all wrong. It was war. There were a lot of queers in the foxholes, if ya follow me.”

“Yeah, I follow. My wingman, Riley, and I ended up like that. Neither one of us ever thought we were gay or bi or whatever, but when it came right down to it, there wasn’t anyone else that got me like he did. It was all that mattered in the end.”

Bucky could see the well worn lines of grief on Sam’s face, but he wasn’t prying by asking. Sam brought it up, so he wanted Bucky to know. And when he asked, Sam told. There wasn’t anything to say when Sam was done, nothing that hadn’t been said a hundred times over, and so Bucky kept his peace.

It was Sam who broke the silence again. “So with Steve. You ever want to…?”

Bucky huffed a sigh that was both exasperated and fond. Bucky wondered if Sam might sound like that, too, after another seventy years tailing Steve Rogers. “Like you said, no one got you like Riley.”

Sam nodded at that. Bucky, deciding that turnabout was fair play, turned his head against the sofa cushion to pinion him with his eyes. “What about you, Sam?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s a lot like Riley, but I’ve dealt with a lot of my shit, got my head on right, you know? And Steve, he’s good, but he’s not dealing.”

Bucky nodded and looked back up at the ceiling. He wasn’t glad to hear that Steve was still ploughing ahead as though he could wait just one more day to get his life straight, but he wasn’t surprised either.

Once Bucky had taken a minute to process it all, he looked back at Sam. “Hey, you wanna go spar? I promise not to throw you by your face or anything this time, but god, I’ve got a ton of energy to burn off after the last few days. Plus, this will really ruffle Steve’s feathers.”

“I can’t say no to that. I’m about ready to fight T’Challa again just to _do_ something.”

Sam led them across the campus of the royal hospital to a gym, used mostly for rehab patients, something Bucky technically qualified as. 

“You should tape your whole damn hand,” Sam said as he passed Bucky a roll.

“You afraid of a few bruises?” 

“You’re a menace,” he muttered, and Bucky snickered. More loudly, he continued, “No. I’m afraid of you pinching my skin between those metal plates and pulling bits off.” 

“Stark said this model won’t do that anymore. Besides, if I tape all of it, I won’t be able to bend my fingers,” Bucky whined.

“Yeah, uh huh. Whatever, man,” Sam shot over his shoulder as he went to the floor.

“Don’t worry, Sam. I’ll be real gentle when I’m patching you up,” Bucky drawled.

Sam shook his head and watched as Bucky sauntered his way over. “Are we gonna spar, or would you rather just fuck instead?”

Bucky knelt to tie his shoe and looked up through his lashes at Sam. He smiled alluringly at Sam, who returned the expression and then promptly kicked Bucky in the side as he tried to stand back up. Bucky laughed as Sam pulled him back to his feet, and they stepped onto the mat.

They sparred for a good half an hour before Sam pointed out that he was, in fact, not enhanced and therefore needed a break. Bucky said that he was tired anyway, which sounded like a lie, and they made their way back to their rooms. Of course, Steve was there fiddling around in the kitchenette. He took one look at them and shook his head.

“Neither one of you has any sense,” he stated flatly.

Sam and Bucky looked at each other and immediately came to an unspoken consensus.

“Steve,” Bucky said, as he stalked to the refrigerator, “I’m the Winter Soldier. I can handle your little bird friend without getting an ouchy.”

Bucky yanked the door to the fridge open and let the cool air wash over him. He stared into the fridge. After deciding on orange juice, Bucky gave himself an extra moment while he reminded himself he was not, in fact, the Winter Soldier. When he felt sufficiently calm, he shut the door and turned around with a fake, but well-situated, smirk.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Gee thanks, asshole. Here I was gonna say that I could handle a geriatric amputee assassin with memory loss.”

“Fuck you, Wilson,” Bucky grumbled, not entirely jokingly, as he drank orange juice straight from the container.

“Ooh, is that an offer?” Sam asked with wide eyes.

Steve put hands out to break up the spat. “Alright. Let’s just take it easy. We can work this out. What happened?”

Their nascent plan to milk this supposed conflict for the next however long was immediately destroyed by Steve playing hall monitor. Bucky cracked first and Sam followed, both of them laughing.

Steve took about another three seconds to realize that he had been played. “Oh, I see. That’s what we’re doing. Alright. Enjoy your laugh.”

Bucky came up beside Steve and threw an arm around his shoulders as he took another drink of juice. Sam patted his arm on the way by.

“That was great. Your face, Steve,” Sam laughed.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m gonna hit the shower,” Sam called out as he shut the door. 

Bucky turned to Steve when Sam was gone. “You wanna spar? Sam and I went a few rounds, but I’ve still got energy.”

Steve smiled in way that just looked tired. “Sounds fun.”

Bucky was surprised and relieved at how easy it was to chat with Steve on the walk over, like they had never been apart at all. They went light for the first few minutes while they felt each other out before ramping up the difficulty. And they did have fun like Steve had predicted... right up until Bucky landed one solid hit on Steve. The brief flicker of pain on Steve’s face before he straightened up was enough to have Bucky begging out and quickly leaving the floor.

“Buck?” Steve asked as he cautiously approached.

Bucky leaned his forearms on the wall with his hand in his hair. “Yeah, hang on sec Stevie. I’m just a little…” 

Bucky focused on the wall in front of him and breathed through his nose, doing his damnedest to will away the images of Steve that he carried from their fight on the helicarrier. 

Steve must have felt it too, because he turned Bucky around slowly, pulling him into a full embrace. “Yeah, I know. It was a little much for me, too.”

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve and nodded his agreement into Steve’s shoulder. 

“I think it’ll be a while before either of us is over DC or Berlin. Doesn’t mean I’m mad at you.”

Bucky straightened up and wiped his eyes. “I don’t know why you still think I’m worth all this, but then again, you always bit off more than you could chew.”

Steve laughed softly. He nudged Bucky towards the bench and they sat down. Steve quickly unwrapped his hands before gently unwrapping Bucky’s as well. 

“You were always part of me Buck. I don’t think I lived without you. Not really.”

Something ugly boiled up in Bucky. Before he knew what he was doing, he lit into Steve.

“That why you tried to let me kill you on the helicarrier? You couldn’t save me, so you figured you’d rather die? Awful nice sentiment, except now a lot of nights I get to relive killing you again and again. Hasn’t done either of us much good. You’re still scared of me, and I can’t even spar with you without remembering what I tried to do.”

Bucky figured that he was being unfair, or at least partially unfair, but it was something that had bothered him nearly everyday. Steve could have fought back. He didn’t have to kill Bucky to stop him, but he didn’t even try. 

“Yeah, well, there wasn’t much point. Not without you,” Steve said defensively.

“The hell does that mean?” snapped Bucky.

Steve shrugged like his answer should be obvious. “Like you said, I’d rather die.”

Steve’s voice was even, not so much as a waiver, when he admitted what he had tried to do. Bucky was stunned at first but then shook his head as it hit him: the helicarrier wasn’t even the first attempt. The first attempt had been decades earlier, when he jumped out of Stark’s plane to singlehandedly break him out of a HYDRA base. And again when he forced the Valkyrie down into the ice. And probably a hundred other, less obvious, times from that first ill-advised parachute jump up until right then. Bucky didn’t want to fight someone who didn’t want to live but didn’t know how to die. 

Watching Steve try to live only in name, but not in effort, was like looking in a mirror. Some days, Bucky didn’t know how living, not just existing, was supposed to work. He knew that he didn’t want to be dead, but sometimes he wasn’t sure he had any reason to hang on other than spite. Bucky also knew that if he couldn’t make a solid argument to convince himself of the value of life, there was no way to get Steve on board. 

“Bucky-” Steve tried, but Bucky shook his head and stood, unwilling to face Steve or himself any longer. 

Bucky stopped him. “It’s fine. _I get it._ ”

He stalked out of the gym and left Steve sitting silently on the bench with a handful of tape. 

Bucky, without anywhere else to go and unwilling to intrude on the Wakandans anymore than he already was, simply went back to his room and stripped down for a shower. He was scrubbing his hair when he heard the door to the guest quarters open and close again. Bucky sighed. He knew Steve would follow him back to the guest suite. It was his place as well, at least as long as they were in Wakanda, but it didn’t mean Bucky wanted to talk to him already.

*****

Hearing the water running, Steve sat on the sofa and stared at the wall. He knew Bucky wouldn’t understand. How could he? Bucky had a wonderful, loving family, a slew of friends, and the ladies looked at him like he was Clark Gable. People looked at Bucky like he was somebody worth knowing, but other than his Ma, nobody besides Bucky ever looked at Steve like that. It wasn’t that he didn’t have people who cared about him now. He knew he did and he was grateful, but he also knew that their love was predicated on him not just being Steve Rogers, but also on being Captain America.

He wished Bucky could understand what it was like to have your worth, your ability to be loved, predicated on what someone made you into, rather than who you were. He wanted Bucky to understand why life wasn’t worth living without him, but he didn’t know how to say it. 

Recognizing that he wasn’t about to figure any of it at that moment, Steve pulled out his phone to text Sam. 

_What are you doing? SR_

_Down in the caf getting dinner. SW_

_You want some company? SR_

_Nah. I grabbed something for all of us and I’m bringing it up. Everything alright? SW_

_Yeah SR_

_Be there in 10 SW_

Steve was not surprised in the least when Sam walked through the door, took one look at Steve, and asked, “What did you fight about?”

They talked quietly, setting out dinner, until shortly after the water shut off when Bucky came out. He was still damp, not having toweled off before dressing. Bucky pulled out a chair for himself at the table.

“Thanks for grabbing dinner, Sam,” Bucky said as he sat.

“No problem.”

Steve scooted his food around his plate while he watched Bucky precisely cut and arrange each oddly small piece in an orderly fashion. He ate the same way he cut and arranged his food: methodical, precise, strategic. Bucky chewed each piece a predetermined number of times. It had all the pretenses of being normal with none of the execution. 

It was nothing like watching Bucky eat before the train. He’d wolf down a whole dinner plate without giving himself time to taste the food. Retrospectively, Steve couldn’t blame him. Like he’d told Sam: they used to boil everything, when they had anything, and the food they got their hands on was usually poor quality to begin with. Never mind that they were sometimes too poor to buy much more than salt, if even that. 

Steve continued to watch Bucky eat and came to the conclusion that it was just a thing about control. Lord knew Bucky had been a bit short in that department for the better part of the last century. If this was one of Bucky’s coping mechanisms, he wasn’t about to make him uncomfortable by watching, so he turned back to his own mostly untouched plate.

“You gonna eat, Cap?” 

Sam’s voice echoed what was already bouncing in his own head. Steve sighed.

“Eat your damn food, Rogers,” Bucky ordered without looking up from his plate. “You skip meals too often.”

“I eat when I’m hungry,” Steve shot back, already sounding more than a little annoyed.

“And when the fuck is that?” Bucky demanded quietly.

Steve opened his mouth for a reply that would shut down this whole line of questioning, but there was nothing. Eventually, he shrugged without looking up. “Just whenever I’m hungry.”

Bucky lowered his fork and locked his eyes on Steve. Steve could feel the intensity of his gaze and wished he could be anywhere else. “So, when you’re in the mood?” The question sounded innocuous, and Bucky’s tone of voice was even and politely inquisitive.

“Yeah,” Steve answered. And then immediately he realized it was a trap.

“Yeah,” Bucky echoed mockingly before his voice filled with barely suppressed anger. “Except that’s bullshit, because that’s not how eating works. You eat a certain number of calories a day to maintain your body. Three square. Isn’t that what we used to say? Even HYDRA had rules about making sure that their precious ‘Asset’ was functioning properly, and those included eating enough. Even their dumb asses saw the importance of it. So don’t play stupid with me, Rogers. Mood’s got nothing to do with it.”

Steve could feel Bucky watching him. He didn’t have a reasonable defense against Bucky’s words, so after another moment of hesitation, he got down to business. Bucky continued to watch for a while. Steve felt like he was being evaluated but continued to eat, knowing that the tides of this particular battle were against him, two to one.

When Steve did look up, he saw Sam and Bucky immediately break eye contact, like some unspoken conversation had passed between them. Steve wondered when he would find out what they were trying to say.

*****

Bucky had already suspected that Sam was there for more reasons than just Steve, and it was confirmed two days after their fight when Sam introduced Bucky to the Trouble Man soundtrack. Sam and Bucky were sitting in the grass outside the lab sharing a pair of headphones when Steve came back from a teleconference briefing.

“Let me guess. You’re introducing Buck to the healing wonders of Marvin Gaye,” Steve quipped, dropping to sit beside Bucky.

Sam laughed and Bucky made a face. “How did you know? And what the hell are you talking about?”

“Ignore him. Cap’s just being a little shit,” Sam explained.

“What he means is that he made me listen to Marvin Gaye in the hospital after you pulled me from the river. I couldn’t get up and it played for about two days before I managed to get to the thing and shut it off,” Steve corrected.

Sam snorted and shook his head. “See, it motivated you to get your ass up. Also, you didn’t ‘shut it off.’ You crushed my mp3 player.”

Steve shrugged unrepentantly. “I didn’t know how to turn it off, but I figured it out.”

“Oh, you ‘figured it out’? That’s what you’re gonna call that?”

“That’s what I’m gonna call it. Solved the problem.”

“Problem? Marvin Gaye is not a problem, you philistine,” Sam muttered.

Bucky’s very put upon sigh interrupted their bickering. “Would you both just shut up? How am I supposed to know if I like this if all I can hear are your childish asses?”

Sam and Steve chuckled but fell silent, and Bucky’s eyes drifted closed to the sounds of “Poor Abbey Walsh.” The small sounds of voices and footsteps filtered into their world from time to time as people passed, but it was just background and before long Steve seemed to relax beside Bucky, his serum-enhanced hearing no doubt letting him enjoy the songs with them.

*****

By the time they made it to “Deep in it” the soft _pat_ of a falling tear drew Steve’s attention to Bucky. Without opening his eyes he pulled Bucky close alongside him and Bucky laid his head on Steve’s shoulder. Sam took Bucky’s shaking hand in his own and they sat, warm in the sun.

Safe and still in the courtyard, Bucky didn’t know why he was crying. But before long, the soft pats of his tears were echoed by the men who bracketed him, and for all it was unexpected, it felt right to share this moment that was theirs alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Cognitive Processing Therapy (CPT)** : Cognitive Processing Therapy (CPT) is an evidenced-based manualized treatment protocol that has been found effective for the treatment of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and other corollary symptoms following traumatic events. It focuses on how the traumatic event is construed and coped with by a person who is trying to regain a sense of mastery and control in his or her life. Source
> 
>  **Stuck points** : These are defined as inaccurate thoughts, statements, and/or beliefs that impede recovery from PTSD. CPT addresses these “stuck points” to help the patient break the inaccurate thought patterns.


	2. Chapter 2

When it was finally time to leave the safety of Wakanda, Bucky was conflicted. America seemed to loom large and daunting, full of questions and press conferences, while Wakanda was safe and quiet. At the same time, Wakanda was decidedly not where he belonged. It was beautiful, and the people were some of the kindest he had ever known, but the air smelled of flora that was unfamiliar. The birds sounded alien. It lacked the base sensory recognition that went with the word “home,” and it triggered his ingrained survival mechanisms that kept him alert and hypervigilant more often than not. The therapist he spoke with agreed that America might help with that, but there was only one way to know. 

Stark, Banner, and Pym had packed up their lab equipment and headed out the morning before. Stark, to Bucky’s ever increasing gratitude and astonishment, had offered to help wrangle the crush of press requests, and Bucky had been more than grateful to accept. And, as it turned out, that meant that Bucky only had to appear normal through three interviews -- two with newspaper journalists and one with a legal correspondent -- before Stark put the kibosh on any further “intrusions into Sergeant Barnes’ privacy.”

*****

Bucky expected it to be difficult to get settled back in New York, but it turned out not to be the case, at least not entirely. Stark had tried to give Bucky his own apartment in the Tower, should he want it, but Bucky didn’t even have the chance to get anxious about living alone before Sam and Steve invited him to move in with them. Bucky knew that they had moved in together in the Tower once the Accords had been dissolved and the charges dropped. Still, he hadn’t allowed himself to hope that he might be invited to join them.

When Bucky expressed hesitation at intruding, Sam shook his head and roundly shut him down. “Man, we got more space in our apartment than a damn house. Just pick a room. We don’t use half of them anyway. Just don’t leave your shit lying around and we’ll be good.”

“Yeah, there’s a room between Sam’s room and mine that you can have, if you don’t want to be too far off on your own,” Steve offered with obvious hope. 

Bucky couldn’t help but smile. He breathed out a sigh of relief and nodded, glad to not have to try to navigate life alone anymore.

*****

Life was surprisingly simpler than any of them had expected. People like them don’t get to just have easy lives, and none of them really knew what to do with themselves. At least at first.

After a couple of weeks, Sam took up yoga with Banner and landed a temporary position at the local VA. Bucky found a therapist that he liked and threw himself into his homework. If Bucky had learned one thing of value from HYDRA, it was that he never truly changed without repetition and pain. Doing the CPT work with a therapist wasn’t less painful, but it was easier. He had someone to be a sounding board, someone to call him on his shit and his disordered thinking. In fact, he had several someones. His therapist, Jonathan, was number one on the list, followed by Sam and Steve. 

Bucky tried not to put too much on Sam, he had a therapist for that, but sometimes Sam could be real with Bucky in ways that Jonathan couldn’t. Sam had been there, too. He knew how hard it was to do the work, and when Bucky couldn’t quite get his head on right, Sam was there for him. 

Steve readily admitted that he wasn’t sure how to help, but he made himself available. Bucky had been reluctant to go to Steve, but when he finally did, he wondered why he hadn’t asked before. So, when it started to get rough about halfway into the program, Steve was there to remind Bucky he was worth it, even if it pissed Bucky off some days.

But through all of it, Steve was just Steve. He was quiet. The quiet wasn’t something Bucky had noticed before he went into cryo, because there wasn’t any downtime to be quiet in. Now, though… Bucky knew shellshock -- or at the very least, depression -- when he saw it. Steve always seemed tired and he hardly ate. He threw himself into the mountains of work Hill sent him. He kept up his morning running schedule and he worked out way too damn much, in both Sam and Bucky’s opinions. But even for all the effort, he just wasn’t the same, though Bucky knew that it wasn’t fair to single out Steve. None of them were the same. 

But when Steve didn't touch the watercolors and pastels Bucky bought him for his birthday, they actually began to worry.

Sam just shrugged when Bucky brought it up. “You can lead a horse to water…”

“...but you can’t make his dumb ass drink,” Bucky finished.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, man. He’s gotta want it.”

*****

The Avengers Initiative was still dead, along with SHIELD, but with the Accords out of the way, a bit of overstated government oversight was the last hurdle to getting back into the field. It took Hill three months after their return from Wakanda to solidify the legal status of the team. In the meantime, missions had been cropping up without regard for the legal status of the Avengers. Not able to sit idly by, Steve led Tony, Vision, and Thor into the field on covert missions. Bucky suspected that Sam and the others would have gone at a moment’s notice, but he was grateful to not have to find out. They were content to ride out the interim period in peace, the first vacation some had ever had.

When the red tape cleared, Hill finally pulled all the resources together, and they hit the ground running. Their current assignment was to level every last HYDRA base they could find. 

So, when the first mission arrived, no one was surprised when Bucky swaggered onto the Quinjet in his tactical gear, carrying more firearms than they were aware were in the armory. Not everyone was one hundred percent enthusiastic about Bucky, but it didn’t mean that they weren’t glad for his help. No one was pretending he couldn’t pull his own weight and then some, which counted for a quite a bit in their line of work.

The mission was a success. No one was seriously injured in the firefights that inevitably cropped up when invading and then levelling a HYDRA base, but some folks, like Sam, still managed to pick up a few bumps and bruises. 

Sam had landed on the rooftop to back up Bucky and Clint as HYDRA lackeys poured out of the multiple roof accesses. They all had their hands full, hoping to distract this group long enough for Nat and Stark to get into the lab and power down the reactor before anyone got any ideas about martyrdom while they were still in the area. 

Bucky had three guys on him at once, which wasn’t too big of a problem for him, but Clint had three of his own and no more arrows. Sam made swift work of the goon in front of him and took off towards Clint. Sam never saw the Nordic tree of a man who got him in the back with a taser rod. He went down silently, save for the sound of his flight suit on the gravel, and as soon as the shock stopped, the goon was kicking him in the side with his steel toed combat boots.

When Bucky heard the discharge of the taser, he knew something had gone wrong. Nat was the only one of them who carried electricity based weaponry, and she was eight floors underground. He mopped up his current assailants and another five more for good measure and turned to see Sam curled in on his side, trying to protect his stomach from the onslaught of feet. Bucky strode towards Sam and leveled his gun. He shot the man four times in rapid succession without breaking his stride. 

Sam waited a second before trying to drag himself off the ground. Bucky got there in time to help him to his feet. Sam nodded and waved his hand.

“I’m good,” he bit out, pointing behind Bucky.

Sam’s eyes dilated rapidly as he pointed, and Bucky turned to see a fresh wave of HYDRA soldiers running their way. Without another word, Bucky and Sam rejoined the fight, the scare from a moment ago seemingly forgotten. 

The moment they loaded up in Quinjet, though, that changed, and Bucky cornered Sam.

“Alright, bird brains. Strip it off. Let’s see,” Bucky ordered, trying, and failing, to conceal his concern with ribbing.

Sam was so surprised at the order that he had his outer layers off before he even realized what he was doing. He tried to play it off as discarding his gear along with everyone else. “Dude, I’m fine. Just a few bruised ribs. Stop worrying about me.”

No one cracked a joke about innuendo, not even Stark. Other than Clint, no one had seen what happened on the roof, but to understand what Bucky meant, they didn’t have to. The worry on Bucky’s face was something they all wore on occasion. No one laughed at the near loss of a teammate, and no one laughed at what they would do to prevent it. Bucky glared briefly at Sam before turning his attention to the far wall. He didn’t say anything else until they got back. 

As soon as they crossed the threshold to the their shared apartment, Bucky grabbed Sam and started pulling his shirt off. This time, Sam didn’t argue. He let his shirt fall to the floor and tried to put on a brave face while Bucky kneaded his ribs to check for swelling and breaks. When Bucky was satisfied, he relented and backed off. Sam just smiled and took Bucky gently by the wrist. He wasn’t really leading -- they both knew where they were going -- but Bucky let himself be guided into Sam’s room, and he shut the door behind them.

*****

Steve wasn’t entirely sure what those two were on about, but he was tired and decided that Bucky would likely see to any injuries Sam had. In lieu of dwelling, Steve took a long, hot shower and went directly to bed.

Dwelling, however, would not remain at bay for long. Specifically, it would become a new hobby for Steve beginning at breakfast the next morning. Steve groggily dragged himself into the kitchen after only about three hours of sleep. He followed the smell of coffee and Bucky’s French toast, only to see Sam grab a handful of Bucky’s ass while Bucky deftly flipped the French toast in the skillet.

“Don’t get too comfortable there, bird boy. I’m bottoming next time,” Bucky drawled over his shoulder.

Steve stood in the entryway to the kitchen, frozen in mute shock for a few moments, before forging ahead like he hadn’t seen or heard a thing. It wasn’t like Steve hadn’t wondered about Bucky and some of the guys in the war, but he hadn’t ever imagined that Bucky and Sam would go down that road. Between his lack of sleep and coffee, Steve’s brain ground to a halt. He grabbed a chair and sat heavily at the table, shelving that train of thought for later.

“Tired, Stevie?” Bucky inquired from the stove.

“Yeah, yesterday really took it out of me, I guess,” he muttered into the cup of coffee Sam plunked down in front of him. 

“Yeah, well you’re gonna fix that -- starting with this plate of French toast,” Bucky explained, thumping the plate down. “Eat.”

Steve tipped his head to the side and sighed. “Buck. I get it, okay? You like to cook. You don’t have to force feed me.”

“Man shut up and eat the damn food,” Sam groused.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “My therapist said I needed a hobby, so I’m cooking for you and Sammy, but for the routine to be meaningful, you have to help me. If you don’t eat it, then I feel like I’m not needed and it sets me back. You don’t want to set back my recovery, do you?”

Steve sighed at Bucky’s obvious guilt trip. Bucky was definitely the same smartass punk that Steve had followed along on dates back in Brooklyn. Even so, Steve stared at the French toast slices like he couldn’t fathom anything so vile.

When Bucky finally finished at the stove, Steve was still staring at the plate while pretending to make meaningful cutting motions as a distraction. Bucky sighed again and pulled Steve’s plate over to start cutting up the food into small pieces.

“Buck-” Steve started in exasperation.

“Hey, now. I’m working on my fine motor skills,” he admonished as he deftly flayed the egg bread.

“Bucky, your fine motor skills were completely calibrated before we left Wakanda. Don’t give me that.”

“Well, be that as it may, I like to keep in practice,” Bucky explained, the tone of his voice suggesting that Steve was a moron.

Sam stood and put his plate in the dishwasher. “I’m headed to see my mama. Have fun with this,” Sam said as he waved in the general direction of Steve, Bucky, and breakfast. “I got my phone if we get called up.”

Bucky smiled and nodded, and Steve looked cornered, but he managed a decent goodbye when Sam gathered his things and made for the door. 

As it turned out, though, there wasn’t much fun to be had with “this.” Steve eventually ate about half the French toast, but he basically avoided the kitchen after that for the couple days while Sam was gone. It didn’t take Steve too long to realize that Bucky must be counting his calories, because he periodically brought him light, easy to eat foods -- watered down oatmeal, applesauce, a shake, yogurt -- and guilted the food into him. Steve carefully avoided wondering how bad Bucky’s calculations must be for him to go to so much trouble.

*****

Three days after Sam left, Steve had to make the call for him to come in. The op went better this time: the only person hurt was Clint, and he only sprained his ankle. Still, as soon as they made it in, Sam and Bucky pulled each other down the hall and slammed the bedroom door behind them. Steve awkwardly sat on the sofa. Technically, the living room wasn’t anywhere he shouldn’t have been, but with his enhanced hearing, there wasn’t much left to the imagination.

At first, the the sounds were minimal -- the rustle of clothes, some slightly labored breathing. The labored breathing slowly turned to moans, and then to-

“ _-Ahhhh_ you fucking dick. Stop teasing me.” That was definitely Bucky’s whining voice, but Steve hadn’t heard it quite like that before.

“I thought you said something about wanting dick.” That voice was clearly Sam. A very smug Sam. 

“I said I wanted _your_ dick. In me. Now. Not for you to be a dick. Stop it with the semantics, Wilson, and _OOOOOOHHHH_ \-- god YES!”

The guilt of listening had Steve blushing and his stomach rolling, even though he knew he would have heard Bucky’s last cry in his room anyway. He quickly got up and hopped in the shower to drown out whatever else was happening over there. 

And after that, it became the routine for Sam and Bucky: a weird combination of bickering and overly friendly interactions in down time, and loud, needy fucking after missions. Given that they were averaging 2.7 missions per week, Steve felt that that they were doing quite a lot of fucking, and he bought himself some noise cancelling headphones.

*****

But Steve’s routines didn’t escape notice, either. Bucky had been at Steve to eat since he came out of cryo six months ago. Sam had always tried too, though less forcefully. Sam had thought that once they got this Bucky thing sorted, Steve might even out a little. He didn’t. Finally, both Sam and Bucky gave up all pretenses and sat him down.

“Steve, we gotta talk,” Sam started.

Steve looked a little startled but covered it with, “I already knew you two were fucking.”

“Stevie, everyone in the building knows we’re fucking by now. Don’t deflect.” Bucky looked so matter of fact that if the situation hadn’t obviously been serious, Steve and Sam would have laughed themselves to tears.

Sam tried again. “Look, man, we know you’re not eating enough. Hell, you’re barely eating at all. You’re always tired because you overdo the training, and you’re not eating enough. The serum can only take up so much of the slack. Eventually, you’re gonna do yourself real damage.”

Steve shook his head, and Bucky saw the characteristic fire in his eyes that let him know that Steve wasn’t going down without a fight. “I’m not going to compromise my body. It would put you and everyone else on the team in danger for me to go on a mission if I were less than optimal. I’m not doing that, and I’m not _going_ to do that.”

“Yeah, man. You are,” Sam said. 

Steve was shutting down, and Bucky was grateful when Sam changed tracks. 

“Alright, look. Just tell me why you’re not eating.”

“Sam I _am_ eating. Even with the serum I would starve eventually, but I’m not starving. I eat when I’m hungry, like most normal people. I don’t know why you’re so worried,” he argued back. Steve was raising his voice, and Bucky could tell that this tactic was doomed. 

“It’s alright, Stevie. We’ll back off. Just take care of yourself, you hear?” 

Sam glared at Bucky for letting Steve off so easily, but Bucky shot him a look to keep him quiet.

“Glad we cleared this up,” Steve grit out as he pushed his chair away from the table and stalked off for his run, again, without eating breakfast.

Once the door clicked shut, Sam turned angrily to Bucky. “The hell, Barnes? You can’t just let people self-destruct like that.”

“I’m not and I won’t, but he was ready to fight you. You don’t want him on the defensive, not like that. Give it time,” Bucky told him, though the sound of defeat in his voice didn’t really sell it.

Sam grabbed his coffee cup and stalked away from the kitchen table, but then stopped and turned. “Yeah, alright. I’ll give it time. But how much do we have before he slips up in the field? Before someone gets hurt?”

Bucky just stared at the table and said nothing as Sam packed his things. He knew Sam would leave and go to his mama’s house for a couple of days, like he always did when things got to be too much in the Tower.

*****

Bucky was still sitting at the kitchen table when Steve came back a couple of hours later. Steve was dripping with sweat, and even though Bucky managed to catch Steve’s eye for second, Steve ignored him entirely. Bucky watched Steve as he walked to his room and purposefully shut the door. A few seconds later, he heard the shower turn on.

While Steve was still in the shower, Bucky silently slipped out. He went for a walk to clear his head before visiting Bruce’s lab. Bucky could ask for something without having to play twenty questions; it was something he appreciated about Bruce. 

When Bucky finally returned to their apartment, lunch was long since past and dinner was on the horizon. Sam could -- and probably would -- be gone for days, but there still should have been some life in the apartment. After a moment, he could only just hear Steve breathing, slow and steady. 

He put his stuff on the kitchen table and padded into the living room.

Bucky dropped silently to sit beside Steve. “How long have you been there?” 

“Since I got out the shower,” he answered evenly.

“You realize you’re not exactly proving me wrong here. That’s a whole ‘nother day without eating,” Bucky pointed out.

Steve sighed. “Yeah, Buck. I realized that.”

Bucky patted him on the arm. “Come on, punk. I wanna show you something.”

Steve pulled himself up and followed Bucky to the kitchen table. Bucky pulled out a chair for Steve and plopped down in another. Steve settled and watched as Bucky pulled out an assortment of medical supplies. 

When he finally laid out the stuff, Bucky took a deep breath and covered his emotional vulnerabilities by covering his physical ones -- he dialed his senses up to eleven and he gathered a small amount of resting tension into his muscles. It wasn’t enough tension to be stiff or uncomfortable, just enough to prime his muscles and reflexes so that he wasn’t completely inert where he sat. Once he felt like he was ready for an entire spec ops team to burst through the door, he swallowed and tried to find the words to begin. When he looked up, Bucky saw Steve watching him with concern and he knew that, if nothing else, Steve understood the gravity of what was happening.

“When they had me, I didn’t get to make choices. Weapons don’t choose things. Weapons don’t enjoy things. They had to dehumanize me. Part of that was the food.” Bucky paused and then gestured at the assembled supplies. “This was how I ate for nearly seventy years because food, even just the act of eating, could be enjoyed. There could be choices involved -- bite size, pacing, how much or how little you chew. They took as much as they could. They had to make sure that there was nothing left.”

Steve stared in obvious shock at the medical supplies which littered the table. Bucky could see Steve’s face twist into something like shame, and he shook his head. 

“Look Steve, I’m not trying to guilt you. I’m just saying that if anyone understands what it’s like to have trouble eating, it’s me. It’s hard sometimes. I go through phases with it. 

“I wasn’t ever deficient or anemic with HYDRA. The formula they fed me was complete but only ever just enough to get by. Problem was, when I slipped them after DC, I couldn’t figure out how to eat at first -- or even what to eat. The only times I was ever allowed anything was when a mission lasted longer than 24 hours and I needed water. So when I was out, I could at least drink, sort of, but I had to learn to chew and swallow food again. It was fucking depressing to depend so heavily on meal replacers and baby formula, like I couldn’t even do what people do. I couldn’t be normal.

“When you found me in Romania, I had just gotten to where I could tolerate anything other than rice, yogurt, applesauce, and baby formula. I was eating normally, and I started to actually fill out. It kind of scared me at first. It had been so long since I hadn’t been constantly hungry that I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to think, seeing someone in the mirror that wasn’t always just on the brink of malnutrition.” 

They sat in silence, the presence of the supplies seeming to take up a surprising amount of space in the room. Suddenly, Steve seemed to understand something, and he looked up at Bucky.

“That’s why you cut your food up so small,” Steve guessed. 

Bucky nodded. “If I try to take too big a bite, sometimes my brain can’t figure out what to do with the food in my mouth, and I either have to spit it out or I choke. Also, each divided bite is its own task to complete. I can compartmentalize the effort of eating to one bite at a time.”

Steve nodded and looked at the table, but not at the supplies on it, “So your therapist’s homework about cooking?”

“Yeah, I really do need to do it, but there are other things I could do, too. I picked it because you need it just as much as I do.”

Steve leaned his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Buck. It’s not even like I mean to do it. I just forget. I don’t get hungry or thirsty. Nothing smells good. Just the thought of putting food in my mouth is nauseating.”

Bucky nodded and put a hand across the table. Steve immediately took it for what it was and wrapped his hand around Bucky’s. 

“The programming was intense, obviously, but I mean... I still can’t shake it some days. Sometimes I get weird and think I don’t deserve food, because food is for handlers only. I forget that it’s alright. That it’s allowed. Part of it was making me not want food. They used aversion conditioning to decrease my appetite. Some days I can feel it so strong. It’s like I want to scream or climb out of my skin just to not be in the room with food. 

“Other times, my brain forgets how eating is supposed to work, and I can’t get my tongue or my jaw to participate. Sometimes I forget how to swallow. I’m just saying that I’ve had three years to relearn, and I still get it wrong. It’s okay if you get it wrong sometimes, too.”

Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand and nodded. “Thanks, Buck. I appreciate it.”

“Look, I’ve got some experience with this. I’m not saying it’s the same, but I bet some of it will help.”

Steve looked at the supplies with poorly disguised apprehension. “I hope that stuff isn’t your plan,” he pretended to joke with a small laugh.

“Only if that’s what you need it to be. Sam would say it’s probably not the most psychologically sound solution, but if it’s easier than eating, I won’t judge. The formula I’ve got is complete, and it’ll be enough for enhanced guys like us, so with a little tweaking you won’t have to worry about a balanced diet. But it’s up to you.”

“Do you still use it?” Steve looked up at Bucky without raising his head. Bucky figured Steve really didn't want to ask, but Bucky understood why he did. If Steve was suffering like that behind his back, Bucky would want to know too. 

Bucky shook his head. “Nah, but I had Bruce order it for me anyway. It’s not something I ever want to do again, but knowing that I have the option makes it seem less difficult to eat some days. It gives me an out, even if I’m not going to take it.”

“That makes sense. How does it work?” Steve asked. 

Bucky acted like Steve’s question was the most normal in the world, and carefully explained each supply and then the process. Revisiting the feeding tube and its use was excruciatingly painful, a reminder of abuses Bucky wished he could forget. Memories of the tube and the conditioning came bubbling up. His stomach rolled, and his nerves tingled with remembered pain. But for all that it was painful, it was also familiar, and he leaned into that familiarity. By the end of it, Bucky was raw, flayed open and exposed, in a way that he hadn’t felt since HYDRA. 

They sat in silence for some time, still holding hands as the conversation and its implications settled. Finally, Steve unsurprisingly informed Bucky that he was entirely uninterested in experiencing that form of nutritional supplementation. 

Bucky chuckled. “I can’t say I blame you. It’s kind of shitty. How about this? I’ll make you your favorite -- my ma’s beef stew -- and we’ll get through it together. Why don’t you pick a movie and catch up on your emails while I get to work?”

Steve smiled genuinely, and Bucky was suddenly warm with hope. He remembered how scrawny little Steve would do nearly anything to get a bowl of his ma’s stew back in the day. The stew was still an effective bribe, which was something Bucky filed away for later use.

“Sure, Buck. Lemme know if you need a hand with something,” Steve said as he rose.

They stood and Bucky patted Steve on the shoulder as he went off to check his emails. Once Steve was gone, Bucky swept the supplies back into their bag. He stuffed the bag in the little cabinet over the fridge where they kept the things that they didn’t want to trash, but clearly weren’t keeping because they needed it.

Around the time that the stew was finishing up, Steve reappeared, looking a little less vacant.

“How’s it going?” he asked Bucky.

“Should be done in another couple minutes. I see you managed to miss all the work, as usual,” he shot back.

“You were right about the emails. There were a ton of them,” Steve explained.

Bucky grabbed a couple of spoons and glasses of water. He took the items to the coffee table in the living room, and Steve padded out to join him.

“Just in time. Have a seat there,” Bucky said, pointing to the pillow on the floor in front of the sofa, “and I’ll go snag the stew. Go ahead and get the movie cued up.”

Steve snorted when Bucky reappeared with the stew. Still in the pot. He tossed a pot holder on the coffee table and plunked it down.

“Whaddya pick?”

“It’s not a movie, but I’ve been watching Star Trek lately. I made it through The Original Series and The Next Generation. Now I’m on Voyager. It’s campy, but I like it.”

Bucky gave a one shouldered shrug as he sat on the sofa behind Steve. “Alright, I’ll bite.”

Steve shifted a little between Bucky’s knees but said nothing as the episode started. After the opening credits had rolled, Bucky tested the stew with a finger and popped one of the finely chopped bits of beef into his mouth. Cooked thoroughly enough that he barely had to chew it, he snagged another and tapped Steve’s cheek.

“Open,” he said. It was quiet. Almost inaudible. Just enough to get the response, but not entirely break Steve’s concentration on the crew’s reactions to their first letters from home. 

When the food landed on his tongue, Steve looked almost surprised, but he obediently chewed and swallowed. Three episodes later, Bucky asked to watch more because “it’s not bad, but don’t tell Wilson,” and the intermittent bites stopped altogether. The pot had nothing left but broth, the spoons still untouched. 

“You wanna watch another?” Steve asked.

“Nah. I need to clean up the kitchen before bed,” Bucky answered. He leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Steve in some weird semblance of a hug. “I’m proud of you, Steve.”

Steve smiled and leaned his head back against Bucky’s chest. “You made it easy. Not sure that counts.”

“Well you ate it, so it counts,” he explained as he ruffled Steve’s hair and stood up. 

Steve joined him and helped cart their mess back to the kitchen. Bucky drank the rest of the broth from the pot -- like he was raised by wolves -- while Steve loaded stuff in the dishwasher.

*****

Things started looking up for the next couple of days.

The next morning, Steve managed three quarters of his breakfast and a protein shake. Bucky was beaming at Steve, and Steve felt like he used to, before the war, when Bucky would take _him_ to dinner rather than some new dame. Being the object of Bucky’s focus had always been dizzying, and this proved to be no exception.

“Bet you I can get my mile down to a minute twenty. Wanna race?” Bucky challenged after they had cleared the table.

Steve grinned. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Bucky shouldered Steve as he stalked to his room to grab his running clothes. A few minutes later, they bounded down the steps of the Tower and towards Central Park. 

There were only a few blocks to go before the park, and Steve taunted Bucky, “Is this what you call racing, Buck? I remember you being faster in Romania.”

The look Steve got in return let him know that it was on, and not a block later, Bucky shoulder-checked him into a garbage truck before hot-footing it to the park. When Steve finally caught sight of him, Bucky was leaning against a tree, sucking a lollipop that Steve didn’t realize Bucky was carrying. A hard crunch to demolish the last of it, and Bucky pitched the stick over his shoulder and into the trash can without looking. 

“Glad you finally decided to come for a run this morning, Rogers. Care to join me?”

“God, you’re a jerk.”

“And you’re a punk.”

And off they went. 

Steve barely noticed when Bucky managed to wrangle lunch -- and later dinner - into him, and before Steve knew it, it was morning again. Bucky didn’t leave him behind on this run, nor did they race. They simply took some of the lesser-used trails and made a few winding laps of the park before calling it quits. Afterward, they picked up a vast quantity of take out and headed back to the Tower.

It was a maintenance day for Bucky’s arm, so after showers, they carted the food to the lab and spent the rest of the morning there while Stark nattered to himself. To be fair to Stark, he probably didn’t intend to natter to himself -- it was probably directed at them -- but neither Steve nor Bucky paid much attention. 

Even if Bucky assured him it was temporary and manageable, seeing Bucky in pain made Steve’s stomach roll. Bucky could tell that Steve was affected, because he had managed exactly two bites of food since they hit the lab. Determined to not lose what ground they had gained, Bucky turned it into a game. Every time Stark turned away or wandered off in search of whatever it was he needed, Bucky would hastily wind up a glob of noodles on his chopsticks and tap Steve’s cheek with them until his mouth opened. Then, by unspoken agreement, they both pretended like nothing was going on. 

Their game was childish as fuck. The only reason it was funny was because Bucky made the most ridiculous faces. Steve spent the better part of another hour doggedly not laughing at inappropriate moments while the world’s most feared assassin covertly fed him lo mein while pretending to be afraid of being caught in the act. 

But Steve felt something else entirely when, after the last bite of lo mein, Bucky deftly licked the chopsticks clean, the same chopsticks Steve had been using, and dug into a takeaway box of kungpow chicken. Steve was reminded of intruding on Bucky and Sam by being in the living room that night. The act of Bucky licking the chopsticks which had just been in Steve’s mouth seemed too personal, too intimate, and Steve was reminded that soon this little hiatus would be over and Bucky would go back to Sam.

And when exactly had that become the dynamic? Steve, if he wanted to or tried, could spend as much time as he needed with either one of them, or even both. He was far from neglected. He lived with his two best friends, for god’s sake. But with Bucky and Sam having their thing, Steve felt kind of -- excluded wasn’t the right word, because he didn’t swing like that -- but maybe unnecessary, or like he took up too much space. God only knew Steve had taken up more than his fair share of space in Bucky’s life over the years.

Eventually, Steve got lost in his thoughts. By the time they left Stark’s workshop, he was so far into his own head that he didn’t notice Bucky herding him out the door or taking his hand to lead him back to their apartment.

Bucky gave him space for the rest of the day. Steve just laid on the floor by the living room window and watched the sky. When dinner rolled around, Bucky padded into the living room to get him. Steve startled out of his thoughts when Bucky sat down next to him.

“Hey, sorry, man. You alright?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking about the guys -- Dum Dum and Gabe and the others.”

Bucky sat down on the floor beside Steve and looked out the window. “You do that a lot?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know the war was a long time ago, but for me it’s only been a few years. And when I woke up, I went right back, but this time with aliens and Norse gods. It’s-- I think of them a lot, because at least I could understand that. I could understand them.”

Of course, Steve was relatively sure that understanding didn’t go both ways. The guys only really knew Captain Rogers, not Steve. But at least he could pretend that they did. And like he said, at least he understood them.

Bucky shifted to lay down next to Steve. “But it’s not just that, is it? You can’t turn it off. Like every moment is gonna jump up to bite you in the ass. The war stopped out there but it didn’t stop in there.” Bucky tapped the side of Steve’s head. “Did it?”

Steve’s hands balled up, and Bucky laid a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. We’re all like that. Not a-one of us isn’t fighting it in our head.”

“Don’t patronize me. Not everyone has shellshock or PTSD or whatever they call it now.” Steve was pretty sure he didn’t have shellshock, at least not as bad as some of the guys got it, but telling Bucky why he thought about the guys seemed like something Bucky wouldn’t understand. Bucky hadn’t understood it then. Steve doubted that he would understand it now.

“PTSD or otherwise, pretty much the entire team has troubles -- you, me, Sam, Stark, Nat, Barton -- alright, well, maybe not Vision, he’s some weird newborn alien droid thing with virtually no life experience -- but Thor, Banner, the others too. We’re all a little fucked in the head. You don’t gotta be a soldier to go to war, and god knows you guys have seen more than a few.”

“Buck, that’s not true.”

“Yeah, it is. Barton sleeps in the goddamn ventilation system. Nat barely sleeps at all, and when she does, it’s with her eyes open and god only knows how many guns, knives, and whatever else within easy reach. Stark is an alcoholic who hates sleeping because -- I’m just gonna guess here -- nightmares, and he can’t keep a functional relationship because of his obsession with flying suits of armor. How am I doing so far?”

Steve sighed at the accuracy of Bucky’s statement. “Alright, I get the picture. What are you getting at?”

Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve’s seemingly intentional denseness. “That it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I don’t know how, or if, they deal with their shit -- my observations are limited to alcohol, coffee, poor life choices, and unhealthy amounts of adrenaline -- but I like my therapist. He’s alright. No judgement, no forced choices. He lets me lead and doesn’t make me feel like shit if I can’t meet a goal, but he’s real. He doesn’t let my bullshit slide. I’m not saying therapy is fun or easy, but it does help. There are options, is all I’m saying.”

“Buck, I’m not that bad off. I’m not saying that you’re crazy or something. That programming is a lot to work through, so it’s different for you, but everyone changed after the war. Nobody went to therapy for it.”

“I think you’re making a lot of assumptions about what I do in therapy. After Wakanda, the dangerous programming is gone and I’d worked through the worst of the rest of it before you ever caught up with me. I go to talk about the war. About HYDRA. About what I lost all those years in cryo. We got a lot of that same shit, Stevie, and just because none of them went to therapy doesn’t mean they didn’t need it.”

Steve sighed and shook his head like he was arguing with a particularly thick brick wall. “I’m just a little blue Buck; that’s all. It’s not as serious as all that.”

Bucky snorted and finally turned to look at Steve. “You just finished telling me how it was ‘as serious as all that’ and I gotta tell ya, you haven’t been doing all that hot lately. You want me to give it to you straight, or do want me to tell you what you want to hear?”

“Give it to me straight,” Steve muttered, a touch angry and resentful.

“You asked for it,” Bucky said with a shrug, and took a deep breath. “You don’t hang out with the team, and when you do, you’re the sourest puss in the room. You train far more than any of us do, and it’s not because you _need_ it; it’s because it’s something to do. Where the other guys from the unit used to get drunk, or high, or find a dame or two, maybe even gamble, you’d dive right back in because, just like that stuff, it’s a distraction. You can’t think about how you’re hurting if you never stop to feel it. 

“And when you do stop, you lose time. You lay down somewhere and forget to move for hours or even a day at a time. You don’t draw or paint anymore. Hell, you barely eat, if I’m not right there. And you think that it’s not a big deal, but you’re self-harming. That’s what they call it now. Remember how starvation was abuse in the war, when HYDRA had me and the rest of the guys? Yeah, well, it’s abuse when you do it to yourself too. I’m pretty sure that self-harm is high on the list of reasons you need therapy.”

Steve listened, and his chest hollowed out into the familiar dull ache. Letting himself numb to Bucky’s words, to float off into another world where he didn’t have to deal with everything, was easy. For a moment, Steve’s strategy of avoidance worked, right up until Bucky sighed and rolled over to leave, taking the warmth of his hand away from Steve’s arm. The illusion came crashing down, and Steve flinched hard with the suddenness of the loss and the guilt of wanting that contact in the first place.

Bucky sat back and looked at Steve, waiting. 

“Does it help? Going to therapy?” Steve asked, voice cracking and eyes wet.

Bucky nodded. “I wouldn’t ask you to do something so hard if I didn’t think it would help.”

“Then… how? What do I need to do?” Steve felt like he was begging for mercy, and it felt raw because _I can do this all day_. And he had been doing it all day -- all century even -- but now he couldn’t, and that, if nothing else, let him know that Bucky was right.

“We’ll get it set up in the morning, Stevie. Let’s watch some Voyager and eat dinner.”

Steve sat on the sofa and fiddled with Netflix while Bucky toted the now-cold food to the coffee table and pulled it up so they could eat from it.

While Steve was lying on the living room floor earlier, Bucky had, in an apparent moment of uncharacteristic laziness, taken the easy way out with dinner. He had thrown a couple of boxes stroganoff helper and some hamburger meat together in lieu of honest-to-god cooking. It was good, especially for the lack of effort involved. As soon as Bucky plated up a share for each of them, he started eating his fill with quick thieving bites from Steve’s plate. Steve, not one to abide in having his dinner stolen or in letting Bucky win, began thieving shares back from Bucky’s plate just to spite him. 

Two plates later, Steve realized that Bucky had once again conned him into eating a decent-sized dinner. But it didn’t matter that he’d eaten. He felt alright, not exhausted like he did on days where he forgot and not nauseated like when he forced himself to eat for necessity's sake. Right then on the TV screen, a rather attractive woman in a skin tight suit was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with some large, angry looking aliens, and if that wasn’t enough to keep his attention, nothing would be. 

He used the distraction to tamp down any rising guilt and shame. Being Bucky’s burden before the war had been bad enough. Now that Bucky had real problems of his own, Steve couldn’t bear the thought of imposing. Still, it felt good to be cared for, and there didn’t seem to be a reason to ruin that.

Eventually though, Bucky stole the remote and changed the TV to Kung Fu Panda. It was cute, but not enough to keep Steve awake, and he drifted to sleep leaning against Bucky.

*****

Once the movie ended, Bucky pulled his cell phone out and texted Sam.

_Come home JB_

The reply was near instant. 

_Mission? SW_

_Steve JB_

_Omw ETA 45 min SW_

_Thanks JB_

When Sam burst through the door exactly forty four minutes later, Steve was still slumped against Bucky and half-covered with an ugly afghan that Steve insisted was decorative. Sam glared at Bucky’s obvious not-emergency, and Bucky glared right back. 

Slowly, Bucky extricated himself from the sofa and Steve and followed Sam to his bedroom.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked. The glaring had really only been for show. He knew Bucky wouldn’t have texted him like that if it weren’t important.

“He’s ready. He’ll do it. I need you to find him someone and set it up now while he’s still on board,” Bucky explained.

Bucky knew that Sam didn’t need what that meant explained to him. They’d talked about it themselves often enough. 

“Have a heart-to-heart while I was gone?”

“Several,” Bucky’s face did an awkward thing, a mix of frustration and grief, but he straightened it up. “I’ve gotten some meals in him the last couple of days. But I can’t keep this up. I’m always watching to make sure he’s alright. I’m always planning to get him to eat. It’s like constantly running an op. I’m drained.”

“Yeah, you’re dealing with your own shit. You can’t deal with his for him too,” Sam said sagely. 

Bucky nodded. On one level, he didn’t like not being able to take care of Steve. On another, he was glad he didn’t have to. He couldn’t take care of Steve, to be honest, and he didn’t want to be expected to be same Bucky that he was back in Brooklyn. Bucky knew that he was someone else after the war and HYDRA, and it had taken a lot of work, but he was okay with being different. He just hoped Steve was okay with it, too.

Bucky sat down on the bed and looked at the floor.

“Hey man, you did good. This is big. Just take a deep breath. I’ll get the rest of it from here,” Sam offered as he sat down beside him. “I got Stark to vet a list of therapists a while back: interviews, background checks, NDAs, even shit like exploitable weaknesses and community connections. All Steve has to do is call one and he’ll have an appointment within 48 hours. I’ll walk him through all of it.”

Bucky nodded and sagged against Sam. Sam wrapped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and pulled his chin up for a kiss. Bucky definitely hadn’t had sex on the mind before, but Sam wasn’t fucking around with his kissing. It didn’t take any time at all for _all_ parts of Bucky to be on board with the proceedings.

Sam broke the kiss long enough to speak, his lips brushing Bucky’s as he spoke, and Bucky sighed softly at the sensation.

“You’ve been so good while I’ve been gone, Bucky. Lemme take care of you. I can make you feel so good, baby.”

“Mmm,” Bucky moaned against Sam’s lips.

Sam gently pushed him down onto the bed. “You gotta be quiet. Can you do that?”

“Yeah, Sammy, I can do that,” Bucky promised. 

“Alright, baby. Well, let’s get those clothes off, hmm?”


	3. Chapter 3

One day, after about a month of going to therapy twice each week, Steve came home and immediately cornered Bucky in the kitchen. Sam was with his sister that day, so Steve took the opportunity to get his therapy homework out of the way for the week. 

Steve stopped just inside of what was probably Bucky’s personal space, but Steve felt like something of this calibre deserved to be personal. He took a moment to breathe and gather his courage before rushing in, but Bucky spoke first.

“Hey, pal. Therapy go alright? You look a little spooked,” Bucky observed.

Steve shook his head at Bucky’s analysis. Spooked wasn’t the right word. He was scared as hell.

“Buck, I just-- I want to apologize. I was an ass. You were right. I had a death wish of a sort. It-- When it happened there was so much going on at once. The helicarrier was going down. We didn’t really have an exit strategy, and I wasn’t leaving without you. All I had left was not hurting you, and I would have had to hurt you, Buck, I would have had to hurt you a lot to stop you. And I just…” Steve paused, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before continuing. “I couldn’t. So I gave up. I thought I could at least do that for you. That maybe one of us might survive, because I was in bad shape. I honestly… I honestly didn’t expect either of us to make it out. So I let you hurt me, because if I had to go out, I wanted it to be with you, and if letting you kill me was all I could get, then I was willing to take it. It was selfish as hell, and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

And just like that, Steve turned and bustled back out of the apartment, leaving Bucky standing slack-jawed at the stove. 

Steve took the stairs, as he had nowhere in particular to be right then, and it made him easy for Bucky to catch. Steve had only made it as far as the first landing when Bucky yanked open the door and shouted after him.

“Get your ass back here, Rogers.” 

Steve’s shoulders bunched up tight when he heard Bucky’s voice, but he paused and turned to face Bucky.

“You don’t get to just drop that on me and then leave, punk,” Bucky snapped from the landing above where Steve stood. “Get back up here. We’re gonna talk.”

Steve nodded and scaled the stairs. Bucky waited on the landing for their floor and walked back with him.

Bucky pointed to the sofa. “Sit.”

Steve dropped himself to the sofa like a brick and Bucky joined him. They sat silently, both contemplating the TV in front of them, though it was currently off.

Steve eventually began to fidget in the silence, not having the sniper’s stillness that Bucky possessed. “Buck, I know I fucked up-”

“Damn right you did,” Bucky bit out, his characteristic calm completely gone.

Steve swallowed and tried to press on. “-and I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

Steve couldn’t get his footing, and he fell silent again. It was another five minutes of intense quiet before Bucky finally spoke.

“What you did was selfish. You hurt me, Steve. Nothing they ever did hurt me like that. Nothing.”

Steve winced and nodded his head in defeat. Clearly this situation was irreparable. The therapy suddenly felt pointless, because if he and Bucky would always be at odds, then what was he trying to accomplish?

“Do you know why?” Bucky continued, unwittingly pulling Steve out of his spiralling emotions.

Steve shook his head, the thread of conversation lost to him in the torrent of grief. “Why what?”

“Why it hurt so much. Do you know?”

Steve shook his head, and Bucky put an arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him close. Steve tried and failed to stifle the little gasp he made, and he looked at Bucky in shock.

“It hurt because I love you. Hurting you and not being able to stop it hurt me in ways that no other torture ever could.”

Steve opened his mouth to say _something_ , but instead his breath hitched in a way that could have been a sob. Bucky just wrapped both arms around him and planted a light kiss in the hair just above Steve’s left temple.

“You really didn’t know, did you? God, you are such an idiot sometimes. Of course I love you, punk. Always have.”

“Love you too, Buck,” Steve finally choked out. 

“Yeah, I know, but don’t think you’re off the hook. I’m still mad about that, might always be. Just promise me you won’t try to off yourself again, alright?”

“Yeah. I promise,” Steve vowed. He’d promise Bucky anything just to hear him say “I love you” again.

Bucky nodded and smiled. “Good.”

*****

After about four months of therapy, everyone had remarked on how much happier Steve seemed. Steve had even mentioned it himself. He had started eating more, he had scaled back on the workload he took on, and he had taken up art again, though the jury was out on whether or not that was a good thing.

Steve watched people while they cooked, did yoga, or watched TV, always with his sketchbook in hand. For people like Clint and Nat, it was a little disconcerting to have their movements so closely observed. Bucky, on the other hand, took to it like a duck to water. Mostly, he just started walking naked around their apartment whenever Steve was drawing and then asking if he needed a nude model. Sometimes he’d drape himself over the arm of the sofa or lay out on the coffee table and pose just to watch Steve blush. Maybe for someone else it would have been a little awkward to have the former Winter Soldier lounging about naked in their apartment, but Sam and Steve weren’t “anyone else.” As most people in the building were well aware, Sam and Bucky didn’t exactly have those kind of secrets anymore. As for Bucky and Steve, they had been in the Army together, which covered nearly all the bases, except for the ones Bucky wished it had covered.

Sam knew what Bucky was doing, and it didn’t bother him. He wasn’t the jealous type, at least not in this situation. Bucky might be pining after Steve, but he wasn’t holding back with Sam. Their relationship was solid. When Sam had finally taken Bucky home, he had slotted right into Sam’s family like he had always been there. Hell, Makayla and Jaclynn both called him Uncle Bucky and his mama, Darlene, called Bucky “son.” She hadn’t even called Riley that. So no, no one was leaving anyone, and Sam wasn’t sure that having Steve in the mix wouldn’t improve things. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Steve watch them when he thought they didn’t notice. It wasn’t lust, it was longing. He wanted someone to look at him like Sam and Bucky looked at each other. Steve’s problem was that Bucky already looked at him like that and Steve just didn’t see it. The kicked puppy look that Bucky perpetually wore was slowly wearing Sam down.

Sam found Steve in the conference room poring over blueprints and highlighting breachable exterior walls, ventilation systems, surveillance systems, and operational blind spots. Sam hadn’t really ever warmed to FRIDAY running everything, but after not finding Steve in their apartment, the gym, the common kitchen, or the common area and then checking that Steve’s motorcycle was in the garage, he gave up and asked the AI.

Sam leaned against the doorframe and watched as Steve brought up a holoprojection of the basement laboratory system. There had been a hell of an improvement from when Sam met Steve, who had still been figuring out touch screens, to now, where Steve was deftly manipulating a holoprojection with one hand and taking notes with the other. Sam was still mastering his smart phone. Privately, Sam suspected that the serum had done something to Steve’s cognitive abilities, but if Steve knew and wasn’t saying anything then Sam wasn’t about to bring it up. 

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch me? That’s kind of creepy, Sam,” Steve quipped.

It amazed Sam that no matter how quietly he breathed, Steve could always hear him. “Nah. But I do have a couple of lawn chairs sitting up on the roof with a full cooler and my homemade guac. You coming?”

*****

Steve closed the programs without a second thought and swept his papers into a folder that he stuffed in a nearby file cabinet. He had been working on this particular op for hours, and he wasn’t getting it done tonight. A little relaxation would do him well.

Steve took a moment to appreciate how different this evening was going from how it would have gone several months ago. Before the therapy, Steve would have declined Sam’s offer, citing mission prep, and spent another five hours drawing up ingress and egress routes before heading to bed late and without dinner.

Now, he simply followed Sam to the inevitable beer and junk food. Sam had been offering him drinks since they met, despite Steve’s protests. 

“Sam, I can’t get drunk,” Steve had pointed out the first time Sam offered.

“Doesn’t matter. You know what it’s for. Your brain’ll figure it out, even if your metabolism doesn’t. Besides, _I_ can get drunk, and right now I need to get drunk with someone, so here,” Sam explained as he pressed a beer into Steve’s hand.

And that had been that.

They took the elevator to the top floor and walked out the double doors onto the roof. Steve happily popped open a beer, which, if nothing else, he still enjoyed the taste of, and started in on his own share of chips and guacamole. Their chairs were facing west, looking at the sunset over the Hudson River. 

“So any reason you asked me out on this date?” Steve asked after a minute.

Sam smirked and took another pull from his beer. “Your words not mine, Rogers.”

Steve laughed. “Seriously, what’s the occasion?”

“You working your ass off to pass the time while Bucky’s out on assignment with Nat.”

Steve inclined his head. “Fair point.”

They lapsed into silence. It was fully dark before Sam spoke again, already on his fourth beer.

“You miss him,” Sam observed.

“I made it without him for over seventy years. I think I’ll survive the week, Sam. Besides, he’s your fella, shouldn’t you be the one getting all sappy over him right now?”

Sam shook his head and took another swallow of beer. “Nah, the sex is always better after a mission. I can wait.”

Steve laughed and shook his head. “You really are happy together, aren’t you?”

“Yeah man, ‘course we are.”

“I’m glad. You two deserve it.”

Sam nodded and looked down, rolling his beer bottle between his hands. Even in the dark Steve could see the places where Sam’s face wrinkled with grief.

“Riley?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Never thought I would find someone like that again.”

Steve leaned forward, elbows on knees. “It’s hard to lose someone like that. When I woke up and Peggy… I’m just glad you two have each other.”

Sam looked up and stopped rolling the bottle. “You could have that too you know? Happiness.”

“Nah,” Steve answered, shaking his head and drawing his hand away. “I tried with Sharon. It was a mistake. And dating? Doesn’t even seem worth it. Too many people would want to date Captain America, not Steve Rogers. I don’t want to deal with that.”

Steve wondered for a second if anyone besides Bucky, and maybe Sam, even knew Steve Rogers anymore, but Steve knew that it was just his insecurities talking.

“I meant with Bucky, you idiot.”

Steve laughed, sincere but tired. “You’re drunk.”

Sam pursed his lips for a second before answering. “Yeah, but it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Steve cracked another smile and shook his head. “I don’t swing that way. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s spoken for.”

“I don’t swing that way either, that’s not what it’s about.”

Steve bobbed his head to the side and smirked. “Oh, I don’t know. What was it last week? ‘Oh Bucky, your dick’s so fucking big. Harder please.’ I mean, it _sounds_ like you swing that way, is all I’m saying.”

“Fuck you, Rogers.”

“Oh, so both of you now?” Steve joked. Sam usually matched him barb for barb when he was sober, but Steve enjoyed being able to get him all out of sorts when he was drunk.

“Goddammit Steve, that’s not what I meant... I think,” Sam shook his head little and pointed a serious finger at Steve. “Look, the point is that it’s not about which team you bat for. I never thought I could be into guys before Riley, but it’s different in war. In war you’re into skin, people that you can trust, feeling someone else alive against you when you thought that there was nothing alive left in the world… not even you. It made shit like ‘straight’ seem small minded and petty compared with what you got with someone like Riley or Bucky.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to stare thoughtfully into his beer bottle. He’d never thought of it like that. It had always baffled him how Bucky went from girls in Brooklyn to fellas in the Army, but when Sam put it like that, it surprised him that he didn’t see it sooner. He certainly wished he’d seen it sooner. 

“Sam, I’m not mad, but why tell me this now? You just wanna let me know what I missed my chance on? Feels kinda like you’re rubbing it in.” He rolled his bottle between his hands and wondered how it was that he could feel the loss of something he never had to begin with. To know how close, and simultaneously, how far, he had been from that kind of relationship made his stomach clench.

Sam shook his head and opened another beer. “I’m not like that man. I said you could have Bucky because you can. There’s enough to go around.” 

Sam took another drink and muttered, “Insatiable bastard.” 

Steve tried very hard not to hear that last part because, with everything else, it was more than he was ready to consider. It surprised him that he was willing to consider any of it at all. “I know things are different now. People are more open and free with their relationships, but I don’t know. I mean how would you factor into all this?”

Sam snorted. “Steve, I can factor into this anyway you like. I never expected sex, but goddamn if you weren’t the first time someone made me feel alive since Riley. Why else do you think I followed your spangly ass into certain death?”

Steve laughed, a little uncomfortably, and took another drink. “You are incredibly drunk.”

“Oh very, Steve. I am very drunk, and I will regret this conversation in the morning, but right now we’re gonna have it until I am satisfied.”

Steve looked over at Sam and quirked his eyebrow.

“Goddammit man, you know what I meant. Look, just go to him. He’s been moonin’ at you since the forties, and I can only have so much Steve-doesn’t-notice-me sex. That shit’s depressing. Just get on Google and figure out how to suck dick or whatever. They got porn for that. I’m sure you figured out porn by now, since you’re not dating and all that. You ain’t gotta take it up the ass first time out or anything. He’ll be thrilled with whatever you give him, even if you just kiss. We’ll figure us out.” Sam waved between the two of them. “Later.”

“So you’re saying there’s an ‘us’ now, too?” Steve asked. He couldn’t help but be amused that all of this was some foregone conclusion in Sam’s mind, even if it felt a little like drowning.

“I’m saying I’d’a let you bend me over the railing on that dam after we escaped from the Strike team.”

Steve blushed furiously in the dark and was immensely grateful that Sam didn’t have low light vision like him. It didn’t matter that Sam was far too drunk to take notice, even if he could see. 

“Oh, is that all?” Steve finally managed to get out in a semi-even voice.

“God, tomorrow is gonna suck isn’t it?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve agreed. “It’s definitely gonna suck.”

“Bucky’ll be glad to hear it,” Sam snickered. 

Steve sighed, and Sam doubled over laughing at his own awful pun.

“But hey, I get him first when he gets back, you hear me? I had the good sense to hit that first, so no stealing my post-mission nookie, alright?”

Steve had absolutely no intention of moving that fast. He wasn’t even sure if he was going to move on this at all, if he were honest. But there was no point in riling up Sam again, so he simply agreed.

“Alright, Sam. You got my word. Now come on, I’m cutting you off. Let’s get you inside. We’re getting up early to run, remember?”

“Aww fuck, man, really?” Sam moaned as Steve hauled him upright.

“Hey, you agreed. You’re not backing out on me are you?”

“Hell nah. I can run with a hangover.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you ready to go at 0430,” Steve said authoritatively.

Sam swayed as they made the elevator. “I really hate you sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah, you definitely hate me,” Steve shot back as the doors closed behind them.

*****

Not only could Sam not run in the morning, but he was still drunk when Steve went to get him. A little good natured ribbing was one thing, but Steve wasn’t about to make Sam run while drunk, because it wasn’t just mean, it was dangerous.

Sam was still asleep when Steve got back, so Steve grabbed a protein shake and microwaved some frozen breakfast quiche that Bucky had made the week before. When he had finished his breakfast and showered, he made his way back to the conference room and started up where he left off the day before.

When the noon-time alarm on Steve’s phone went off, he closed up all his work. The routine of obeying his phone for food had gotten easier, to the point that he didn’t even think about it, and he made his way up to the common floor to rummage in the fridge. 

Sam and Clint were both already there. Sam looked like hell and Clint appeared to be enjoying himself entirely too much as he flicked tiny bits of paper at Sam, who just groaned intermittently. 

“Hey, Clint. Hey, Sam. Still hungover?” asked Steve, his voice intentionally louder than absolutely necessary.

Sam groaned again. “I know you’re being loud on purpose, jackass.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve answered casually.

After some brief searching through the fridge, Steve collected the requisite supplies and assembled himself a stack of cold cut sandwiches. He gathered his plate and sat down at the table across from Sam.

“Nat called me earlier. Says they’re close to wrapping up and to expect them to be back in the next 48 hours,” Clint offered. 

Steve nodded and started in on his second sandwich. Tony bustled in right after and immediately went for the absent coffee pot. 

“Barton?” accused Tony without turning around.

“Cheers,” Clint said as he lifted the carafe to his mouth again.

Tony turned and glared. “It’s like living with a bunch of children. Heathens, all of you,” he griped as he left again.

Steve got up and put his plate in the dishwasher when Sam asked, “How you feeling today, Rogers?”

“Better than you,” Steve said with a smirk.

“You know what I mean.”

Steve smiled and walked to the door, “Don’t forget to take an aspirin for that headache.”

As the door closed, Steve heard Clint practically yell, “Oh, you’ve got a headache?”

“Fuck you, man,” replied Sam.

After that, Steve couldn’t quite get his head back into his work. The flawless concentration of the morning had been lost and replaced with a weird anticipation and confusion. Bucky had always seen something in Steve that even Steve himself didn’t see and he knew that. That Sam might be interested was less of a surprise; he’d had plenty of opportunities to impress Sam. But Bucky had known Steve before the serum and cared about him nonetheless. It had never made sense to Steve before and it still didn’t now, especially now that Steve could more or less take care of himself.

After a couple of hours spent ineffectually planning personnel movements for the upcoming op, Steve decided that he should talk to Bucky to clear this up. Steve told himself that chances were good that Sam was just projecting his drunken desires. He was sure that, in the end, Sam would be hilariously embarrassed, and Steve would be off the hook for all of this complicated nonsense. He resolutely ignored the fact that he felt slightly disappointed in what he deemed to be the inevitable outcome.

*****

The next day, Steve spent the morning and early afternoon finalizing the raid with Hill. When they broke for the day, Steve went back to the apartment only to discover that Bucky was _definitely_ back. He was greeted by the rhythmic sounds of slapping flesh and Bucky moaning, high and needy. Steve didn’t so much as cross the threshold before he closed the door again and went to the gym instead.

When he finally made it back to the apartment, Bucky was in the kitchen chopping vegetables.

“Hey Stevie. How you been?”

Steve patted him on the shoulder as he opened the fridge. “I think I finally got that Magadan base op planned with Maria. We should be ready to hit it on Sunday.”  
“Hell yeah,” Bucky replied with enthusiasm. He had a special level of passion reserved for levelling bases where he’d been held by HYDRA.

Steve sat at the table and polished off a bottle of water while Bucky threw the veggies in a wok. 

“Hey, Sam said you wanted to talk with me?” Bucky mentioned.

Steve sighed and looked at the table, suddenly questioning his resolve to have this talk after all. “Did he say what about?”

Bucky shook his head. “Nope.”

“Mmm,” Steve murmured.

Bucky measured out the rice and added the water to the steamer before saying anything. “Do _you_ know what it’s about?”

“Yeah, but let’s talk after dinner.”

“Sure. How about you go shower and stop stinking up the kitchen?”

“That’d carry a lot a more weight if the entire apartment didn’t smell like a brothel right now, Buck,” Steve retorted as he walked towards the bathroom. 

“You know you love the smell,” he called as Steve walked away. After Steve closed the door to his room, he heard Bucky shout, “You’re just jealous!” 

Even in the bathroom Steve could hear Sam snickering in his room.

After Steve took his shower, he sat with Sam and Bucky on the sofa. They ate dinner and watched Rocky IV. Bucky really got into the movie, yelling at the characters and shouting fighting advice. Sam laughed at everything about the movie. Steve was on the fence. When the movie was over, Sam was the first to turn in -- predictably, since he probably arranged this situation -- citing sleep and tomorrow’s prep for the Magadan op. Bucky and Steve sat on the sofa in silence for a couple of minutes before Bucky lost his patience.

“We gonna talk or should I hit the sack?”

“Yeah. Come on. Let’s get some ice cream.”

*****

A couple of blocks from the Tower, there was a Ben and Jerry’s that they frequented. The staff there all knew Captain America and the other Avengers, and everyone always got an extra scoop on the house. It was, for obvious reasons, everyone’s favorite ice cream place.

On the way there, Bucky told Steve all about the mission he and Nat had just finished. The mission details were dry, and Steve had already read the report. So instead, Bucky told him about the places that they went and the food they ate. Steve was glad that this time they went somewhere Bucky had never been before. The missions where Bucky had to revisit a place where someone had died by the Winter Soldier’s hand always left him wrung out and guilt-ridden for days after. Seeing him happy and excited was heartwarming. 

Steve smiled as Bucky talked about having to flirt with Nat for several days while they got cozy with the mark and his wife. He downright laughed when Bucky described ballroom dancing with Nat. Apparently it was like “dancing with death, but don’t you tell her I said that.” 

Around the time they got their ice cream, the talk to switched to their upcoming op in Russia, and Steve filled Bucky in on some of the basics. Bucky licked his ice cream cone with determination as they walked down the sidewalk. Steve was honestly impressed that Bucky hadn’t crushed it in his metal hand yet, given the levels of anger, fear, and agitation radiating off of him. 

Steve put an arm around Bucky’s shoulders as they walked. It took a second, but Bucky relaxed into it and let Steve hold him as they wandered through Hell’s Kitchen. 

“We’ll get them, Buck,” Steve finally offered.

Bucky nodded, a little too mechanically for Steve’s comfort. 

“I spent some time there for conditioning,” Bucky confided. His voice was small, and his shoulders hunched in like he was protecting himself.

Steve pulled him tight. “We’ll be there for you. You’re not alone, Buck. Never again.”

“I know,” he whispered.

They turned north towards Central Park after another block and pitched their cone covers in a trash can. The park was never empty, but some nights it was less busy. They managed to walk around without people asking for autographs and eventually settled on a bench together, Steve’s arm still around Bucky’s shoulders. 

“So, what was Sam saying you needed to tell me?” Bucky queried.

Steve choked on nothing but the air in his lungs. He was absolutely unprepared for _that_ topic to come up yet. To diffuse some of the nervous energy he felt, Steve drew his arm back from Bucky’s shoulders and knotted his fingers together in his lap.

“Well,” he started and then paused. He rubbed the back of his neck and tried again. “Well the topic of you came up and Sam was pretty drunk and-”

Bucky leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “Fucking hell. Wilson tried to set us up, didn’t he?”

Steve blushed and chuckled. “Long story short, yes.”

“So what’s the damage?” 

“Depends on the accuracy of what he said, and I’m still not sure how I feel, but I don’t think it’s what I’d call ‘damage.’ He did, however, encourage me to use Google to quote ‘look up how to suck dick or whatever.’ That was a little awkward.”

Bucky started laughing slowly, his head still in his hands. After a few seconds, he picked up steam and was holding his stomach and brushing tears off his face. It took him a few minutes to be able to speak again. It was halting and punctuated by bouts of snickers that broke through.

“Exactly how drunk are we talking?”

“Well, he was still drunk the next morning when I went to get him, so I’d say very,” Steve guessed.

Bucky shook his head and managed to ratchet the laughter down to a chuckle. “Serves him right for starting shit he had no business in.”

Steve raised an eyebrow and bobbed his head to the side. “He seemed to feel very differently. He complained about the amount of ‘Steve-doesn’t-notice-me sex’ that he is apparently subjected to.”

Bucky sobered up instantly. “Look, Steve. All I’m gonna say is that you never should have been told that. Sam’s trying to guilt you into something that you have never expressed an interest in, and it’s manipulative.”

Steve’s heart sank a little. “Are you saying it’s not true?”

“I’m not saying it isn’t. I’m saying that-”

“Are you honestly interested?” 

“I mean, yeah, but Steve…” he stammered.

“Then why can’t we try it? I mean I’ve never tried making time with a fella before, but I learn new stuff everyday.”

“Stevie… this isn’t… I can’t… Look, this isn’t about the sex. I can’t just _try_ it. If we do this and it doesn’t work out…”

Bucky went silent and threaded his fingers through his hair. Steve had seen that move before. It was something old Bucky didn’t do, but Steve had seen it quite a bit while Bucky dragged himself through the CPT program. It didn’t take much for Steve to see how vulnerable Bucky felt, hunched over to protect his stomach and hands clenched in his hair and covering the base of his skull. 

“You’re in love.” It wasn’t a guess. Steve could see at least that much on Bucky.

Bucky nodded. “In a way, but you’re not.”

“Honestly, Buck, I don’t know. I hadn’t exactly given it any thought. In the war, I had Peggy, and even if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been brave enough to look anywhere else. You know how dangerous it was then. I didn’t even let it cross my mind. And then you were gone and it didn’t matter anymore. I mean, if it would have been anyone, it would have been you. And…” Steve trailed off as old grief rose up, and he took a moment to remember that Bucky was warm and alive beside him before continuing. “It’s not exactly like it’s come up since I got you back, either. You and Sam, god, you two together are a matched set, you just clicked in Germany. It’s just never been an option for me for so many reasons.”

“It is now. Sam understands. He knows I wouldn’t leave him for you and he gets it. He’s the sharing type.”

“Oh, Sam’s the sharing type alright. In fact, I think he’s counting on you doing some sharing too,” Steve informed him with a chuckle.

Bucky raised both eyebrows. “So, we’ve established that he was very drunk, but….”

“But he said that he would have let me fuck him after that first fight in DC where you shot Nat.”

Bucky shook his again. “Goddamn. This is a mess, Steve. _We_ are a mess. You know that?”

“I’m discovering it anew every day,” Steve agreed. “Buck, I’m not saying no, to either of you. I just need time to get used to the idea and maybe try it out. I know that’s hard for you, but I can’t commit until I have an idea of what I’m committing to. Besides, it’s not like I’d ever leave even if I couldn’t make it work like that. I did become an international fugitive and start a small war to get you back, on the off chance that you might remember me. I’m not gonna pack up and leave over this, however it goes.”

“Yeah, alright, but I pick the next date.”

Steve smiled. “That’s fair. Now come on. Tomorrow is mission prep day, and it’s late. Let me walk you home.”

Bucky snorted and Steve stood, offering Bucky a hand up. “I can’t tell if you’re being sweet on me or you’re just an ass, Rogers.”

“Can’t it be both?” Steve retorted as Bucky took the proffered hand.

Bucky snorted again. “Could it ever _not_ be both?”

*****

Steve smiled and they headed back to the Tower, making idle conversation along the way, but in his mind Steve kept replaying Bucky’s words.

_I pick the next date._

That meant that this evening had also been a date, which brought to mind Sam’s recommendation that Steve kiss Bucky and, to be fair, that was kind of standard fare for dates. Steve’s stomach did a little flip at the thought of kissing Bucky. It had been years since he had kissed anyone. He wasn’t averse to the idea. In fact, a growing part of him was feeling rather anticipatory. But he couldn’t just forget what life was like before the war. It was easy enough to say that he supported people’s right to love who they love, Steve certainly couldn’t see the harm in it, but that acceptance was much harder to apply to himself. Nevertheless, once Steve latched onto the idea of kissing Bucky, apprehension or not, he had no intentions of being deterred.

They continued to walk hand-in-hand, making small talk, until they reached their apartment. When Bucky reached for the door, Steve paused and held him back by his wrist.

“You gonna kiss a fella good night?” Steve prompted. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and he could hear the rush of blood in his ears. The same nervousness and anticipation that Steve had gotten with Peggy rushed up, only to be undercut by fear and doubt. 

But the instant the words left his mouth, Bucky lit up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve, and it washed away every ounce of fear and insecurity Steve had. 

When Steve put his hands on Bucky’s waist and Bucky put his around Steve’s shoulders, the world narrowed rapidly. Steve was nervous about making the first move, and after he hesitated a beat too long, Bucky took the lead. He leaned forward slowly enough to give Steve the chance to pull away, but he didn’t. Maybe once, Steve would have said that it felt like falling when it finally happened, but falling had its own history now. Instead, it was more like floating. 

Bucky pulled back, breathless, and Steve leaned after him.

“Easy, pal. We’re going slow alright?” Bucky admonished with a quiet laugh.

Steve frowned, or, more accurately, he pouted. “I’m not made of glass, Buck.”

Bucky laughed again and rubbed his flesh thumb over Steve’s jawline. “Never said you were, but we’re gonna go slow anyway. This is important, and we ought to at least try to get it right.”

Steve sighed and conceded the point. Bucky’s logic was, as usual, flawless. “Alright, alright.”

Steve opened the door as quietly as possible, and he and Bucky slipped in. After another quick kiss in the hallway they parted ways, each trying to pretend like they weren’t breathing like they had just managed thirty miles in under an hour. 

Steve laid awake in bed for another hour trying to make sense of everything, but eventually he set it aside so he could catch some sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art in this chapter by [TheRothwoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRothwoman/pseuds/TheRothwoman)

The next day was filled with prep. There were weapons checks, sighting-in guns, cleaning, ammo packing, making sure the Quinjet was fully stocked, morning briefing on the site and plan, evening re-briefing on the site and plan, comms checks, last minute intel updates, and finally sleep. In that period of time, neither Bucky nor Steve spared even a minute to consider their personal lives. It was a nice reprieve for both of them.

The mission, however, was far from nice. Their personnel intel was completely wrong, and HYDRA had managed to develop a frequency scrambler that actually worked on their comms. The minute they were in the facility, the jammer went up, the comms went down, and everyone was isolated with their partner. The possibility of comms failure had been something they addressed in various trainings with one single rule -- stick to the plan -- and so they advanced, periodically checking to see if the comms were functional. 

Steve was with Sam. They had breached one of the upper levels while Bucky and Wanda had breached at ground level and gone down. Steve and Sam worked well together, just as Bucky and Wanda did, but being isolated from him, as well as the other teams, was jarring.

In total, there were five teams in the compound with Banner waiting uncomfortably in the Quinjet. None of the planned rendezvous points included Steve meeting with Bucky, something Steve resolutely tried not to think about. 

In the hour it took for the comms to come back up, Steve and Sam secured two labs, uploaded Hill’s hacking software to the network, powered down one section of bulkhead doors, and ran through a collective seventeen clips of ammo. HYDRA wasn’t in the talking mood, and Steve and Sam weren’t about to coax it out of them.

*****

When the comms finally came back up, the greeting wasn’t exactly what Steve had expected.

“Yeah, go to robot hell,” shouted Clint as something crackled in the background, presumably whatever tech Nat was frying that had been jamming their comms in the first place.

“Comms are back up, boys,” Nat followed with the barest hint of amusement.

“Check in,” Steve ordered.

Tony, Vision, Thor, Hank, Bruce, Sam, Nat, Clint, Scott, and Wanda radioed in. 

“Barnes? Status?” Steve barked. The line was silent, and after a few seconds Steve shouted into the comm, panic quickly setting in. “Bucky is your comm up? Can you hear us? Wanda are you with him?”

Bucky voice came over the comms, not allowing Wanda the chance to explain. His voice sounded like gravel under a boot. “I’m fine. We still have two labs to clear. We’ll make the rendezvous point on time. Out.”

“Copy,” Steve replied.

Steve turned to Sam, who had a pinched look of concern. Clearly, something was wrong, and Steve wasn’t the only one to pick up on it.

*****

For a mission where no one was injured and the actual plan went off relatively well, minus about twenty unexpected firefights due to a lack of comms and poor intel, the tension level was through the roof on the way back. Everyone racked their gear and gave an abbreviated de-brief, but otherwise the ride home was quiet.

Some folks ate, some slept, and some, like Nat, started on their reports. Steve _tried_ to write his report after downing a protein shake in one long pull, but the reality of it was that he spent exactly five hours and thirty seven minutes watching Bucky stare blankly at the opposing wall. He looked vacant and, at the same time, deeply troubled. Steve ached with the knowledge that something had hurt Bucky yet again, and he watched as Sam tried unsuccessfully to soothe him.

When they landed at the Tower, most of the team headed to the common for takeout, but Sam and Steve gently herded Bucky back to their apartment. He walked between them, allowing their proximity, but he was still skittish as a foal.

“Buck,” Steve asked, just above a whisper, when they finally came to a rest in their living room. “You alright?”

Buck looked at them like a kid who wanted off a ride at the county fair. Nothing but pure terror. It was “Who the hell is Bucky?” all over again, and Steve’s stomach dropped.

“Come on, man,” Sam offered. “Let’s get you a warm shower.”

Sam didn’t wait for or even seem to expect a response. He just placed a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder and herded him towards his bathroom. 

“Go wash up, Rogers. I’ve got him,” Sam murmured as they set off.

Steve nodded and let exhaustion overwhelm the things he didn’t want to consider.

*****

The next morning, Steve was optimistic, but that went out the window when he made it to the kitchen and Sam was cooking. Sam never cooked, though he wasn’t a bad cook by any stretch. It was just that cooking was Bucky’s thing, and Bucky never let anyone mess up his routine.

“Morning. What’s for breakfast?” Steve asked with all the false calm he could muster before coffee.

Sam nodded at the stove. “Eggs and bacon.”

Steve nodded and sat by Bucky. “Hey jerk. How you feeling?”

Bucky sat still and silent, staring into middle space. Steve reached out a hand to touch him but Sam saw the motion.

“Don’t,” he hissed. “He knocked the shit out of me this morning when I tried that. I gotta go get an x-ray with Bruce after breakfast.” Sam punctuated the statement by gingerly rubbing his ribs.

Steve’s eyes went wide for a moment, but he nodded and waited for the food to be ready. When Sam plated it up, Steve took both his and Bucky’s plates, carefully cutting the food on both plates into uniformly small pieces. 

Bucky didn’t acknowledge the food, at least not until Steve put it in front of him. Then, Bucky went rigid. His hands, which had hung limp at his sides, splayed out over his knees where he forced them not to shake through sheer force. Steve immediately removed the plate from in front of Bucky and set it on the counter, not out of sight but far from reach. 

“It’s alright, Buck. You don’t have to eat right now if you don’t want to,” Steve assured Bucky.

Some of the tension Bucky was holding, which was probably all the tension his enhanced body could muster at that moment, diminished, though his hands remained glued to his thighs. Sam and Steve exchanged glances but said nothing.

By the time that Steve set Bucky’s plate aside, he had already lost his appetite. Of course, Steve also knew that it was good to show Bucky that food was not the enemy that he appeared to think it was, so he ate his breakfast one small bite at a time. Steve knew that he wasn’t fooling Sam, but the goal wasn’t to fool Sam. It was to comfort Bucky. Steve didn’t need to be normal to prove his point. He only had to eat.

After Steve and Sam had finished their breakfasts, Steve cleared the table and Sam turned his chair to face Bucky, though he remained safely out of reach.

“Hey Buck. I’m gonna go talk to Bruce for a little bit. Will you be alright with Steve?” Sam prodded.

Again Bucky failed to respond, and Steve’s concern grew.

This time, it was Steve’s turn to say “I got him” and wave Sam off.

Sam left without argument, but Steve could see the stiffness in his gait. His ribs were hurting much more than he was letting on. 

With Sam gone, Steve studied Bucky for several minutes before deciding that he needed resources. Deciding to start with the most obvious trigger, the previous day’s op, Steve called Wanda to see what she might know.

Wanda sounded like she had been asleep when she answered the phone. “Hello?” 

“Hey, Wanda. I need some help. Have you finished your report yet?” asked Steve.

“Steve,” Wanda admonished. “It is 8 am. Our reports are not due until tomorrow morning.”

Steve felt a slight twinge of regret at waking her after a stressful op, but he had a mission, and the current objective outweighed her need for sleep. “That’s fine. I just need some info. Can you come up to my apartment?”

Wanda sounded alarmed and far more awake when she responded. “Now?” 

“If you can.”

“Yeah, of course. Give me five minutes. I need to grab some coffee,” she answered before cutting the call.

Steve leaned against the wall in the kitchen entryway and watched Bucky. He would have been impressed by how still Bucky could be, if it wasn’t also gutting to see it. Steve had known going to the Magadan base wouldn’t be easy for him, but letting Bucky volunteer for this op was never Steve’s choice. Even if it had been, Steve wouldn’t have stopped him. If their places had been reversed, Steve would want to scorch every inch of the earth that those bastards had ever set foot on. He wouldn’t take that from Bucky. 

Still, as he took in Bucky’s wide eyes, shallow breathing, and ramrod straight spine, Steve wondered what the cost of Bucky’s choice would be.

 

The apartment was silent for several minutes before Wanda knocked lightly on the door. Bucky flinched but stayed staring down at the floor between his feet. 

“Hold on,” Steve called to the door as he knelt just out of Bucky’s reach.

“Hey, Buck. Wanda is coming by to debrief with me about the mission yesterday. Is it alright if she comes in the apartment?” 

Bucky didn’t answer and Steve tried again, louder this time. “Bucky. Hey, I need you to answer me. Is it safe for Wanda to come in?”

Finally, Bucky gave a jerky nod. A dull ache spread throughout Steve’s chest at the sight, but he smiled at Bucky all the same.

“Thanks, Buck, I know that was hard. I’m going to the living room right now. If you need anything I’ll be right there,” Steve explained as he stood.

Wanda looked worried when Steve finally answered the door. 

“Sorry, we’re having some trouble this morning,” Steve quietly explained.

Wanda nodded towards the kitchen, where she could see the top of Bucky’s head. 

“Bucky? I’m not surprised. He doesn’t tell me much that isn’t mission related, but he _knew_ a couple of the labs. They were made for someone enhanced.”

“He told me that he was held there for a time,” Steve confided. He felt conflicted about sharing that information, but Wanda needed to know at least a small amount about what was going on to have an idea of what information might be relevant.

Wanda nodded and sipped her coffee. “They had a Chair in one lab. He stopped talking after that.”

“Can you tell me more about any of the equipment? Did you see anything in particular?” he pressed.

Wanda shook her head. “I don’t really know what most of it was. There was a stainless steel table with drains and restraints, the Chair, and cabinets of medical equipment and supplies. To be honest, it reminded me too much of Von Strucker to be comfortable.” 

Wanda looked at her coffee mug with a poorly repressed shudder. Steve put a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you alright, Wanda? I’m sorry that I didn’t consider how this might affect you,” he apologised.

Wanda smiled a little lopsidedly. “It’s fine. I’ll be alright. Vision kept me company last night. I’ll just need a couple of days.”

Steve nodded and released her shoulder. “Alright, but if you need anything you let me know.”

Wanda took a long pull of her coffee and narrowed her eyes at Steve over the rim of the cup.

“Of course, because you have no one else to look after right now,” she countered as she lowered the cup.

“Sam is doing as much as I am, if not more. I can always make time for you, if you need,” insisted Steve.

“Thank you.” 

Steve had long ago out-stubborned everyone on the team. Talking to Wanda proved no exception. Even though Steve was sure she only agreed to shut him up and that she had no intention of taking him up on the offer, he knew that having the option available was sometimes the most he could give.

After that, Wanda begged off to go work on her report and eat breakfast. Steve went back to the kitchen to find Bucky in the exact same position he left him in. He turned, went to his room and got his tablet, and came back to the kitchen table to begin his report. 

Sometime later Sam texted.

_Cracked a couple ribs but nothing’s broken and there’s no serious internal bleeding. SW_

Steve set his tablet aside and focused on his phone. It was good news, but it was also concerning news, and he zeroed in on what Sam wasn’t telling him. 

_Oh so just the minor kind? SR_

_Yeah. It’s called bruising. SW_

Steve stifled a sigh of relief so as not to alarm Bucky before he replied. 

_Are you benched? SR_

_Yeah. Ten days. Bucky? SW_

_Hasn’t moved. SR_

_I’m gonna stay here for a while. He was a mess last night and I need some space. Make sure he hits the head soon. SW_

_Will do SR_

Steve saved his work. He always manually saved his work even if it autosaved as he typed. Sam made fun of him for it, called him an old man, but Steve wasn’t the one always bitching that the drive had deleted portions of his reports, so he figured it was worth the extra effort. He thumbed off the tablet and laid it on the table.

“Bucky, let’s take a trip to the bathroom. Come on, pal,” Steve coaxed.

Unsurprisingly, Bucky didn’t respond. Steve stood and moved his left hand slowly towards Bucky and well within his line of sight. When Bucky made no move to stop him, Steve lightly laid his hand on Bucky’s. With a little gentle prodding, Bucky mirrored the action by relaxing his hand and letting Steve thread their fingers together. With a light pull, Bucky stood. It wasn’t graceful or fluid, but it worked, and Bucky haltingly stepped down the hall and into the bathroom. Once in the bathroom, Bucky seemed to have a little more awareness of what was expected.

Steve slowly pulled his hand free of Bucky’s and pointed at the toilet. 

“I’m gonna stand in the hall, Buck. You do what you need to do. The door is gonna stay open, so if you need something, I’ll be right there.”

Moments after the toilet flushed, Bucky appeared in the doorway. Steve led him to the sofa and got him settled before grabbing his tablet and coming back to sit next to Bucky. 

Immediately, Steve’s thoughts went back to Friday night. Outside the apartment door, not thirty feet from where they sat, Bucky had felt so alive under Steve’s hands and lips. But the Bucky who sat next to Steve was nothing like that. This Bucky was horrifyingly compliant and incapable of basic tasks, but he was also dangerous. Bucky had hurt Sam, the person Steve figured he loved the most. Whatever was happening was terrifying as hell to Steve. It was like losing Bucky all over again, piece by piece.

The fear that welled up in Steve stole his breath. All the grief and loss that he had tried to paper over in the years after Bucky fell was just under the surface, unhealed even after getting Bucky back, and it bubbled up from the deep reaches of his mind. Steve was immobilized by the fear that somehow the memories he had of losing Bucky, of watching but not being able to reach him in time, would become reality again. 

Instead of working on his report as he had planned, Steve simply sat with Bucky. He wanted to say something or do something, but he knew that Sam had already said and done everything to be done. Sam probably did it better than Steve would have done it, too. Waiting for Bucky to come out of it on his own was all there really was to do. In the end, Steve set his tablet on the coffee table and they stayed on the sofa together until his lunch alarm went off.

*****

Getting back to Bucky was all the motivation that Steve needed to wolf down Bucky’s now cold breakfast in a hurry. He returned to the sofa with a nutrition shake and renewed hope, and he sat on the coffee table opposite Bucky.

“Hey, Buck. I got something for you. Do you think you could drink this?”

Bucky didn’t move, but Steve could see the sudden fear. Bucky’s eyes immediately dilated, and the tension that had bled out of him since breakfast was back full force. Immediately, Steve took the shake and set it on the counter in the kitchen. When he turned back he paused, startled at the sight before him. Bucky was panting shallowly but otherwise holding stock still. That’s when Steve realized what Bucky was doing. He was _behaving_. He was sitting still while awaiting the inevitable food related conditioning. 

_Torture_ , Steve mentally amended. He was awaiting torture.

As he leaned on the wall, Steve continued to watch Bucky. Very slowly, when the threat of food did not rematerialize, Bucky’s tension decreased, and he seemed to return to his previous state. He sat silent and unmoving. Steve’s hope was long gone.

After a little while, Steve moved from where he had been leaning and he realized that Bucky no longer tracked his movements. When Steve sat down next to Bucky, he tried to get his attention by speaking. When that failed to elicit a reaction, Steve put a hand on Bucky’s right arm, but again got no reaction. Making the reasonable assumption that any more intense stimuli might not be safe to try, Steve gave up trying to get Bucky’s attention. Instead, he pulled out his phone and texted Sam.

_We need his therapist. This is something besides just depression. SR_

_I’ll get him here ASAP. SW_

Sam’s near instant reply made Steve let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Earlier in the day, Steve felt like he had been treading water with the situation, but after the complete shutdown he had just witnessed, he felt like he was drowning. Sam had just thrown him a rope. 

_Thanks. ETA? SR_

_30-45. Need me? SW_

_God yes_ , Steve wanted to reply, but he settled for, _Might when he gets here. SR_

_K. I’ll meet him in the garage and bring him up. SW_

_Thanks. SR_

*****

The therapist was a fair-skinned older gentleman who introduced himself as Jonathan. He was slight and wore glasses that complemented his graying hair.

After observing Bucky for a minute or so, he turned to Sam and Steve. “Who wants to fill me in on how we got here?”

Steve started with a barebones description of what parts of the mission, combined with Bucky’s past, might have caused his distress, and Sam explained his condition since their return from the mission.

Jonathan made a considered “hmm” and thought for a few moments before speaking. “Has he ever been violent towards you before?” he finally asked.

Sam snorted. “Well, the first time we met he ripped the steering wheel out of my car. Then, he tried to shoot me repeatedly, after which he tore a wing off my flight suit and threw me off a helicarrier. The next time I saw him after that he threw me by my face, but I mean now that we’re fucking he’s great.” 

Steve had no idea how Sam managed to deadpan that, but it was impressive, if inappropriate. 

Jonathan sighed. “So when he is not under mind control, he is non-violent towards you outside of previously agreed upon activities?”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed.

He turned to Steve. “Do you agree with this assessment, Captain Rogers?”

“Absolutely.”

Staying well out of Bucky’s reach, Jonathan moved in front of Bucky and crouched down to eye level. “James, can you hear me?”

When Bucky didn’t respond Jonathan tried again. “James, do you know where you are? Please, let me know if you can hear me.”

Unsurprisingly, Bucky made no indication that he heard Jonathan, or could hear at all. Jonathan seemed to be evaluating Bucky from where he was before standing all the way up.

“I would like to observe his reaction to food as a stimulus. I realize that this causes distress, but it would help me better assess his state.”

Steve jerked his head towards the kitchen and Jonathan followed. 

“I don’t want you to be the person to take him food. Bucky can be dangerous when he’s cornered or scared. He could kill you just by accident. The same doesn’t apply to me,” Steve explained.

Jonathan nodded and smiled. “I understand and appreciate the offer.”

Steve nodded and snagged a banana off the counter. Jonathan led the way to the sofa and stayed well out of arm’s reach while Steve approached.

“Hey Buck, I brought you an banana. You think you can eat this for me?” Steve prodded as he moved the banana into Bucky’s line of sight.

Instantly, Bucky drew up tight, his eyes wide and his breathing shallow.

“That’s enough. Please take it away,” Jonathan requested.

Steve set the banana on the counter in the kitchen and listened as Jonathan spoke.

“What he’s experiencing is a form of catatonia. There are different types and each manifests differently, but he is currently responding only to stimuli which he perceives as pain. The most obvious example is the food aversion. Due to his extreme conditioning, I would posit that he feels physical pain when confronted with food. While he has made incredible strides with food and eating, a trigger such as revisiting a facility where he underwent the conditioning is the likely cause of this state.”

“Alright, makes sense, but he’s been to plenty of facilities where he was conditioned before. He had raided several before we caught up to him in Romania. He never mentioned anything like this before,” Sam interjected.

“The truth is that I can’t be sure, but I have a guess. The way James has described his escape from HYDRA after the events in DC, as well as my reading of the files from the SHIELD collapse, has lead me to believe that his conditioning malfunctioned due to the length of time he was out of cryostasis. This is different from him having actually unlearned that conditioning. It’s not inconceivable that a trigger such as revisiting a location where the conditioning took place might reactivate it, especially since the conditioning likely remained latent. 

“It’s also possible that the erasure of the priming sequence contributed in some way. Those were deeply conditioned responses which were removed without regard for the way they might have interacted with the rest of his conditioning. If they were interdependent, it’s possible their absence is creating some kind of feedback loop. Whatever the exact cause, there is good news which is that catatonia responds well to treatment with benzodiazepines, specifically lorazepam. So that will be our first line of treatment.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” Steve asked. Nothing about what Jonathan told him sounded particularly good. 

“Electroconvulsive therapy works well, but I would make that an absolute last ditch effort given his history,” Jonathan explained to Steve. 

Sam was already on the phone with Bruce.

“Hey Bruce. There any lorazepam down in medical? We need the injectible stuff.”

Bruce sounded a little worried, even over the phone and across the room from where Sam stood. “Yeah, sure. How much you need? And furthermore, why? That’s a controlled substance.” 

“We got a small crisis up here. Can you bring it and whatever supplies you need for a saline lock to our apartment?”

“Sure. Quick question- for you or someone enhanced?” Bruce asked.

“It’s for Barnes,” Sam replied.

Bruce sighed. “Ah, right then. I’ll bring it all. See you in five.”

*****

Given the difficulty in calculating dosage with super soldiers, Jonathan and Bruce decided that Sam’s suggestion with the saline lock was the safest and most sensible thing to do. They would easily be able to titrate up to the required dosage without the need for repeated needle sticks.

Safety, of course, was a relative thing in this situation. The first attempt at an IV netted Steve a broken clavicle. Naively, Steve had thought that he could hold Bucky’s arm while Bruce placed the line. It soon became apparent to Steve that Bucky had, in fact, two functional arms when the metal one made a dull crunching noise against his upper chest. Everyone backed off across the room and Bucky was left where he was, half crouched, with a small rivulet of blood running down his arm. 

Steve couldn’t help making the comparison of Bucky then to Bucky in DC. Fighting Bucky for his own good wasn’t something that Steve was any good at, he realized. Briefly, he wondered what it was that he was good at that he could offer Bucky. He didn’t really know.

The next attempt did not involve any more broken bones. Once they gently manipulated Bucky back to sitting on the sofa, Tony got called to “join the party,” as Sam put it. Tony wore the suit, mostly for protection, and he managed to disable Bucky’s left arm without incident. Then he held Bucky’s flesh arm and Steve, grimacing, held his shoulders while Bruce tried again. The fight was there, but once the initial sting subsided, he went still. 

Once the chaos of placing the IV died down, Steve found himself in a weird place. He no longer had a particular use in the situation, and he temporarily excused himself down to medical to find a sling for his arm and a stack of ice packs for his chest and shoulder. While being away from the situation was a respite, it was also grating. Steve had the courage to single-handedly infiltrate a HYDRA base for Bucky in what had surely been a suicide mission, yet the anxiety he felt at helping place an IV line in Bucky’s arm was nearly overwhelming. He had been willing to do anything for Bucky, even die. A quick needle stick shouldn’t be so hard. But it was. The difference between holding down and helping up felt overwhelming, but Steve knew his place was always at Bucky’s side, even if he couldn’t do anything other than be there. With that resolve, he marched back to their apartment to wait it out with everyone else.

*****

The titration process took nearly five hours to find a dosage that had any impact at all. Once they found the right dosage, however, it was obvious nearly immediately. Bucky’s muscles began to loosen, his posture lost its rigidity, and his eyes began to track movement in the room. Sam was the first to chance it and he sat down on the sofa an arm’s length away.

When Bucky’s eyes tracked to Sam’s, Sam smiled. “Hey, baby. You know where you are?”

Bucky’s eyes went wide and he focused on the room behind Sam without moving his eyes. He was careful not to give any indication that he needed visual clues as to his current location, but he was completely disoriented. “I’m at home right?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. You’re at home.”

Bucky turned and looked around at the assembled people. It was not reassuring to see Tony in his suit, Steve with his arm in a sling, Bruce looking actually concerned, and Jonathan, who shouldn’t be there at all, congregated in his apartment. The panic set in quickly, and he turned back to Sam, needing him to explain.

“Why are they here? Why doesn’t my arm work?” he asked. Then Bucky noticed the saline lock, and what little calm was in his voice came unraveled. “What happened? Why do I have this?”

Steve came up and squatted down in front of Bucky. “Hey, Buck. We were just worried is all. You stopped responding for a little while.”

Bucky looked at the IV again and back to Steve and then to Sam. His heart was hammering in his chest -- the fear, the anxiety, and guilt of a sudden realization building up rapidly. “You turned it off to make me safe. I hurt someone.”

“It’s nothing serious,” Sam assured him.

“But Steve’s arm. He’s hurt,” Bucky pointed out. In other circumstances, Bucky would have argued, rather than just make an observation, but some unidentified current of fear kept him from wanting to anger anyone around him.

“It’s nothing that won’t be fully healed in another day,” Steve soothed. “Would it help to turn your arm back on?”

An emphatic “yes” spread over Bucky’s face for half a second, but then he dropped his head. “No, I might hurt someone else. Let’s wait until I’m better.”

“James, I do not think that you constitute any further risk to yourself or others at this time. I encourage you to accept the offer, if it would help you feel more in control of your current situation,” Jonathan interjected.

Bucky watched Jonathan’s face for only a moment before changing his mind. “Yeah, okay. I’d like my arm back on.”

“Sure thing, Barnes,” Tony said. “Here, let me peel out of this thing real quick.”

The suit opened and Tony stepped out, leaving behind a shell. Jonathan watched with undisguised curiosity but quickly returned his attention to the matter at hand. Tony worked quickly and efficiently, causing Bucky no apparent discomfort, as he reactivated the arm.

“Should be online. Let’s see,” Tony prodded.

Bucky circled his arm and flexed his fingers. “Calibration is off, but it’ll be fine until we can do regular maintenance.”

“I’m not surprised,” Tony admitted. “That thing can be kind of tetchy. I think I’m close to figuring out how to integrate it with your system more fully, but a cold restart probably didn’t do you any favors. Sorry about that.”

Bucky shrugged, privately relieved that both shoulders were now participating. “I’m just glad it kept everyone else safe.”

Tony kept his mouth shut, but he looked at Sam just a moment too long and Bucky immediately realized it hadn’t kept everyone else safe. Bucky put his head in his hands.

“Who else?” he grit out.

“Wilson,” Tony replied.

“How bad?”

“Just a couple of cracked ribs,” Sam informed him.

Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, pulling lightly to sting his scalp. This was turning into Berlin all over again. He had hurt people, people he cared about, and he couldn’t even remember doing it. What was the point of suffering through the process of wiping the trigger words if he still couldn’t control whether or not he hurt the people around him?

“James,” Jonathan admonished. “Please don’t injure yourself. How about we talk while your friends take a break?”

Bucky nodded with something resembling enthusiasm. 

Bruce was already gathering his things. “If you need me I’ll be in the lab, probably all night. Let me know if you need anything else, Jonathan.”

Jonathan smiled politely and nodded. “Of course, thank you.”

Bruce bustled out the door. Tony smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He flicked his wrist at the suit and it clanged along behind them.

“We’ll be up in the common, if you need us,” Sam said to Bucky.

“If you need something he can’t provide, just talk to FRIDAY. She’s the Tower AI. She can tell you or get you whatever you need,” Steve explained to Jonathan.

“That is slightly disconcerting, but thank you for the information. I’m sure we’ll be fine,” answered Jonathan.

Steve and Sam nodded and closed the door behind themselves.

Bucky and Jonathan talked well into the night. When Jonathan eventually had to sleep, FRIDAY arranged for a driver to take Jonathan home and for another to deliver his car. Sam and Steve migrated back to their apartment immediately. Bucky accepted a gentle hug from Steve before he headed off to bed with Sam for company.

*****

Steve got up earlier than normal after a night of fitful sleep. He had propped himself with pillows to ease the ache of his healing shoulder, but it hadn’t been very effective. With nothing else to do, Steve made breakfast rather than languishing in bed in his pain. He made oatmeal, fruit salad, and protein shakes. Steve didn’t pretend to be great at cooking, but he made do, and it was better than C-rations. But the cooking had also been strategic. Bucky wasn’t required to eat, not quite yet, but he had agreed to at least be present so he could begin to beat back the conditioning. So Steve made it easy and made things which didn’t smell too strongly.

Sam wandered out to breakfast next, and Steve texted Jonathan to let him know they were waking up and to invite him to breakfast so that he could observe Bucky during mealtime. The invitation was rather unnecessary given that they had agreed to this the previous night. Nevertheless Steve’s mother, if nothing else, had imbued him with a strong sense of propriety, and he found it important to maintain that in his life, especially when everything else seemed beyond his grasp.

*****

Bucky finally shambled out after he heard Jonathan knock on the door, and he joined them at the kitchen table. The table had been empty, to make it safe enough for Bucky to approach, and by degrees Steve brought plates, cups, utensils, and finally the food. It was a smart way to go about it, but Bucky had always hated the little rituals and small steps that he had used to manage the basics when he first escaped in DC. It made him feel broken, even if he knew on an intellectual level that he was not.

Bucky was busy loathing everything about the situation when Steve finally got to him and plated him up a small portion. Instantly, he felt the dread, the fear, the inevitable pain. He didn’t even need to move to feel the electrodes heating up against his skin as the electricity burned through him. He didn’t need to taste the food to see the flashing lights that brought instant nausea and vomiting again and again and again, until the muscles in his stomach knotted and spasmed from the relentless retching. Pain ghosted over his body, his stomach clenched, and he sat rigid and unmoving, palms splayed against his knees in a show of controlled obedience.

Dimly aware of the proceedings, Bucky observed as Sam, Steve, and Jonathan casually ate their breakfasts. Bucky knew that conditioning, and reconditioning as well, was based on nothing more than repetition and reinforcement. He had unlearned, or rather gotten around, the conditioning once. Bucky hoped that doing it again would be quicker this time, if not less painful. 

Jonathan waited around after breakfast until Bucky was calm enough to talk. Bucky checked in with him and they made plans for Jonathan to come back in the afternoon after his appointments finished up to check on Bucky’s condition.

*****

While it wasn’t unexpected that Bucky was unable to eat, it was surprising when he threw up every ounce of water that he drank, or rather that he _tried_ to drink. After the breakfast- and lunch-related anxiety attacks had subsided, Bucky sat on the sofa while Sam checked him over.

“How’re you feeling?” Sam asked.

Bucky shrugged noncommittally. “Thirsty, tired as hell, got a headache.”

Sam nodded as he pinched Bucky’s arm and watched the skin rebound sluggishly. “When was the last time you took a piss?”

Bucky had to take moment to think back. “Last night?”

“Man, you’re gonna turn into a raisin soon, if we don’t get some fluids in you,” Sam declared with a sigh. “I’m gonna run down to medical and snag some stuff.”

Bucky nodded, and Sam left the apartment. Bucky was still sitting on the sofa when Sam came back with a sack of supplies and wheeling an IV pole. With all the enthusiasm of a kid at the dentist’s office, Bucky held out his arm and let Sam attach the line to the catheter that was still in place from the previous day. 

For a moment, Bucky was pulled out to sea by a riptide of terror as he remembered the ways he had been conditioned with IV drugs. The emetics and amphetamines had been unpleasant, but he could ignore those memories. The euphorics had been worse, that he had enjoyed what they made him do had been some of the worst conditioning to overcome, the most damaging to his self-perception, and those memories made his stomach twist and knot. But the blind terror of the acids, irritants, toxins, and paralytics had Bucky clenching his teeth and breathing through his nose.

Sam sat down with him and put a gentle hand on Bucky’s back until he leaned into Sam. 

“I know, man. I know. I got you,” Sam murmured.

Bucky nodded against Sam’s shoulder, and they sat quietly, just breathing.

*****

When Jonathan returned in the late afternoon, Sam, Bucky, and Steve were playing poker at the kitchen table. Jonathan sat down at the table with them, and they dealt him in while Bucky filled him in on the recent developments.

Jonathan took the opportunity to broach the subject of food, or, more accurately, nutrition. “James, we need to have a frank conversation with you about how you intend to meet your nutritional requirements while we’re working through this setback. Maybe we can take some time to talk about that now,” he suggested.

Bucky looked resigned. “Now’s fine. They’re fine,” he said waving his hand at Sam and Steve before drawing another card. Bucky figured that, if nothing else, it would be good for them to know what was happening without him having to explain it again later.

Jonathan nodded. “I did some reading last night and this morning to supplement my admittedly small medical experience with nutritional supplementation. There are a few options which we can explore. As an alternative to the NG tube, we could try TPN or possibly a PEG tube-”

Bucky was already shaking his head. “The PEG is too invasive, and since this should be a temporary solution, I don’t want to go through that. TPN doesn’t work for me. I had a PICC line for a while, but with my enhanced everything, I need more than it can provide, unless the drip is near constant. I nearly starved to death when HYDRA tried that.”

“That’s good information, James. Do you have a recommendation?”

Bucky grimaced, swallowed hard, and folded his hand. The helplessness of the situation welled up in him, but he also knew that making the decision himself meant that he could control at least some of it. Bucky had been in therapy long enough to know that if he flat out refused intervention, he would be hospitalized eventually, and the matter would be forced either way. He latched onto that little bit of choice in the situation and made his decision.

“The NG tube. It’s less painful than the PICC or PEG, and I won’t drop any weight with high enough calorie formula. Plus, I can do it myself.”

Jonathan gave one of his trademark smiles of approbation that Bucky hated simply because he enjoyed them so much. “That’s a great idea. Let’s focus on that for now, and we’ll see how you are later today before we overcommit to more reconditioning.”

Bucky nodded, incredibly grateful that he wouldn’t have to go through what would inevitably be another protracted round of anxiety with the tube, only to have yet another bout again at dinner time. Once more for the day really felt quite sufficient, thank you.

*****

Steve grabbed the supplies, which had remained hidden above the fridge, and brought the bag to Bucky. He impatiently grabbed the supplies and the IV pole and rolled it to his bathroom. The door closed a little harder than necessary and Steve sighed.

“It’s all part of it,” Sam said to Steve. “As much as he has to unpack, I’m surprised that he hasn’t had it worse.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, crossing his arms. He had shucked the sling before lunch. A bit of stiffness in his shoulder was all that was left.

Jonathan leaned back against the wall, finally letting his mental exhaustion show. “I know this seems extremely negative, and in some ways it is, but it is also necessary to confront.”

“Yeah, I know he had some trouble eating again when he first escaped, but to my knowledge he never had this,” Steve said. 

“You don’t get to hide from it forever. You might be great at repressing your shit, but eventually it comes back, if you don’t really deal with it,” Sam explained. “Don’t get me wrong. He did his level best in Romania. He got all the CPT worksheets and resources from the internet and did a lot of it on his own, which is huge, difficult work, but it’s not a substitute for professional support.”

When the conversation died away, they could hear the water in the bathroom shut off and the tearing of plastic packaging. Steve had never realized that the sound of plastic could be somber, but it was. 

“I’m gonna grab some coffee from the common. You want any?” Sam asked.

Jonathan and Steve both answered affirmatively, and Sam set off on his coffee run. Steve knew what Sam was doing, since Steve had done the same last night when he went to medical for a sling and some ice packs. Sam was always the first among them to make space for himself if he needed it, even if that meant going to the kitchen in the common when they already had coffee in their own kitchen. Steve was just glad to see that Sam was taking care of himself. 

As the apartment went silent again, Steve settled into his chair to wait.

*****

It was fucking stupid. He understood why he had to do this, but it was still fucking stupid. After nearly three years and finally getting back to real food, even cooking, he was reduced to this. Again. For all of the shit that Bucky had worked through, he never expected this. He had, more or less, stamped out the self-recrimination from the years of mind control. Instead, all he felt was anger at the complete injustice of the situation and a strong undercurrent of fear and disgust.

As he washed his hands and tore open the packaging, he allowed himself to numb to the work of preparing the various items, but when it came down to actually doing it, Bucky froze. He could remember clearly the first time they had placed it.

The conditioning had gone on for nearly two weeks he guessed, based on his state of malnutrition. The PICC line had helped stave off the worst of it while they scorched every ounce of will to eat from him. By the end, he would have let himself starve to death unattended in a grocery store before chancing the punishments again, and they knew it. 

The procedure itself wasn’t particularly uncomfortable or painful, at least compared to how low the bar was after after the last few months, or maybe years. The discomfort and sting of the tube barely registered, but what he remembered was the sensation of his stomach slowly filling and how grateful he was that they would do something to slake the gnawing hunger. 

That was what stuck -- how grateful he was. He hated that memory and every memory after it where he was grateful and docile, feeling indebted to them, just for the small mercy of having a tube jammed into his nose so that he could be fed only enough to keep him from becoming non-operational. 

Bucky was still gripping the edge of the counter when someone lightly rapped on the door. 

“What?” Bucky growled.

“It’s been about half an hour. I just wanted to check if you needed anything,” Steve replied evenly.

Bucky snorted. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute,” he snapped.

A moment later, the door to Bucky’s room clicked back shut, and Bucky hung his head.

Delaying something as relatively painless as this was pathetic, and Bucky was done feeling that way, if nothing else. He snatched the tube off the countertop and began feeding it into his nose. He swallowed mechanically, and in moments, it was over. He used the adhesive pads and attached the tube to his cheek and snagged the remaining supplies from the counter without looking at himself in the mirror. Quickly, he drew some fluid up through the tube and tested it with acid paper it make sure that the tube was placed in his stomach. Once he was sure everything was set, he vacated the bathroom.

He realized that his clothes were soaked through with sweat from the remembered pain of the past and the anxiety that it had brought while he stood in the bathroom. Snagging some clothes from the dresser, he threw the remaining supplies on the bed and changed, feeding the IV bag through the shirt rather than disconnecting it. 

Sam had come back at some point, not that Bucky had ever registered his leaving, and he, Steve, and Jonathan were arrayed at the kitchen table over their coffees when Bucky stepped out of the bedroom. 

Bucky noticed the formula boluses in a sack on the counter and grabbed one. He knew that there was no way he was hiding this from anyone, but the thought that someone had gone down to Bruce, or that Bruce had come up, grated on him. His ability to control the situation seemed to be just out of reach, which was both frustrating and terrifying. The only thing Bucky knew he could do right then was control his responses and, if nothing else, he did not intend to appear weak by way of anger or fear. Instead, he carefully hung the bolus on the IV pole and sat down at the table to connect it.

As Bucky started to feel the relief from nearly two days without food, he remembered the gratitude he felt when a handler would offer him formula after a mission, like it was a reward, like they had the choice of not offering it if they wanted him to continue being the Asset. The remembered gratitude soured, and the warmth of his handlers’ praise faded as the reality of what it had actually meant sank in. His stomach rolled, and he methodically clamped off the flow from the bolus. 

Bucky breathed through his anxiety. He clenched his hands in his lap, closed his eyes, and took measured breaths. It was nothing like the mealtime conditioning he was dealing with. Mealtimes were a terror, no less than any other, but that particular set of fears was implanted -- directed, planned, taught -- just for the specific purpose of breaking and controlling him that much more. 

What he felt right then was PTSD, pure and simple.

After fifteen minutes of carefully controlled breathing, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. After another minute, he opened his eyes and looked up. The movement was enough to draw the attention of Sam, Steve, and Jonathan.

“So, what now?” Bucky mumbled.

“Now we have to go back to the basics. Would you like some privacy for this conversation?” Jonathan inquired.

Bucky shook his head. “Nah, they’re fine.”

Jonathan nodded his understanding and for a brief moment, Bucky warmed to the perceived praise. He knew that Jonathan was simply acknowledging his choice rather than offering approval for his decision. Still, it was infuriating that he was so deeply conditioned to accept praise from those he thought of as superiors, even if it was nothing more than a simple nod. He squashed the little spark of warmth if only because he could.

“Are you a danger to yourself or anyone around you?” Jonathan began.

Feelings of anger and inadequacy washed over him. If the nod had been praise, then this lack of trust was definitely punishment. 

“No,” he answered. It was an automatic answer, the one guaranteed to make everyone the happiest. 

Jonathan moved on to the next question. “Are you having any-”

Bucky took a deep breath and cut him off, knowing that of all the ways to disappoint them, lying would be one of the worst. “Actually, I’m not sure. I hurt Sam and Steve, and I don’t know.”

“I appreciate the honesty. Are you having suicidal ideation, even if you are not planning to actualize those thoughts?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Are you willing to create a safety plan in case that those things change?”

“Yes,” Bucky answered. It was an easy answer and the obviously expected one. 

“Alright, we’ve done this before so you know the drill,” Jonathan said as he passed Bucky a pencil and a worksheet.

The last time that Bucky had filled out one of these was halfway into the CPT program. The weight of everything that had been done to him had become too real, too fast, and before he knew, it had completely overwhelmed him. Bucky had been too scared to tell Steve or Sam just how out of control he felt but, after several days of eyeing his sidearm, he realized he had to tell someone. He ended up meeting Jonathan at his office at the ass crack of dawn for an emergency session before the regular appointments showed up. When they’d finished, Bucky took his copy of the plan home and showed it to Steve and Sam. It had felt like relief to not have to weather it alone anymore. 

But filling it out at the kitchen table, being back to needing a plan, felt like failure. Nonetheless, Bucky quickly filled it out, putting Sam and Steve down as his support persons and Bruce as his medical care provider. He scribbled out his notes about what he would do personally should a crisis arise and passed it back to Jonathan, who looked over the contents.

“Good. Our next appointment is still scheduled for two days from now, and I would encourage you to keep it. In the meantime, your homework is to continue to attend meals, ingest sufficient amounts of formula, and to attempt eating.”

“I’ll try, but no guarantees,” Bucky replied.

“Understood. Before I go, let’s do a quick check-in.”

“Sounds fine,” Bucky said, grateful that Jonathan wasn’t going to push the matter.

“Alright. Can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?” Jonathan prompted.

Bucky sighed and wondered why he hadn’t kicked Steve and Sam out yet, but then Bucky remembered that he said it was fine that they were there. He wouldn’t go back on that now, if only out of stubbornness, so he forged ahead like he had learned to do early on in CPT. “I’m angry at the unfairness of it. Humiliated that I’m reduced to this. Self-conscious because there’s no hiding how fucked up this is with the stupid tube taped to my face. Scared because I feel helpless in my own body.”

“Those are all very reasonable reactions to have in this situation, and you’ve articulated them clearly, which is going to help you be aware of your motivations and actions as you work on this. Remember not to isolate yourself. I understand that the tube is likely going to be a source of social anxiety in the coming days, but if you allow yourself to hide, it will make it much easier to backslide in other areas.”

Bucky propped his left elbow on the table and cradled his forehead in the palm. “Yeah, I know. I’ll try to keep to my regular schedule, the calories with the tube ought to be enough. I don’t need this IV anymore, though.”

“You got seriously dehydrated over the past thirty-six hours, I think it’d be a really good idea if you went ahead and finished the fluids. After that, you can disconnect it. As for your schedule, I’m recommending that you are removed from the active duty roster for now.”

Bucky shot Jonathan a look that usually accompanied some form of violent death. Bucky felt that this was the ultimate insult. After having spent seventy years being molded into the perfect soldier, it was galling to be told that the very conditioning which had been employed to train him in the first place had now rendered him unsuitable for field work. 

“By no means is this permanent, but you were catatonic not forty-eight hours ago. I think we’d all like to be sure of your ability to handle severe stresses before sending you back into a life or death situation. And before you point out that you were fully operational in worse situations and for longer, understand that I am entirely aware of that point. Furthermore, and more to the point, no one is concerned for your ability in combat. We are concerned for you. Full stop.”

“Fine,” Bucky grit out, “but as soon as I can eat, you clear me. Deal?”

Jonathan smiled noncommittally. “That’s excellent motivation. We’ll see how you’re progressing on reconditioning though, beyond just eating as a marker, before I make my recommendation.”

Bucky glared at the table and Steve leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “Look, the whole team is off standby for two weeks minimum anyway after Magadan. Wanda needs some time, the whole Von Strucker look-alike-base tripped her up pretty badly. Sam got benched by Bruce, and apparently Clint got a concussion that he didn’t tell anyone about until this morning, so you’re not the only one. We’re already down enough people that we can’t run. This isn’t on you. You were gonna get this time off anyway.”

Bucky’s mind helpfully pointed out that Sam wouldn’t be benched if Bucky hadn’t cracked a couple of his ribs and that if he were fully operational, then they could still run. He wasn't sure why he was back to thinking of his health as operating potential. 

He took a couple of measured breaths and shoved all that aside. He pointedly reminded himself that he was not responsible for what was done to him and that it logically followed that this particular situation was also not of his doing. He consciously tried to let Steve’s reassurances seep into his mind.

“Is there anything else you need to address before I go?” Jonathan asked, interrupting Bucky’s internal attempts at reason and order.

“I don’t think so. I’ve got them, if I need to talk,” he assured Jonathan, motioning at Sam and Steve.

“Great. Take care, and I’ll see you day after tomorrow,” Jonathan reminded Bucky as if the other two in the room would, at some point, forget.

“Thanks for coming. Sorry to keep you so long,” Bucky apologized after Jonathan had started to walk away.

“Not at all. This is part of the job,” Jonathan said as he paused in the livingroom. “Good afternoon gentlemen.”

The three of them echoed it, again, and then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Catatonia** : Catatonia is a state of psychogenic motor immobility and behavioral abnormality manifested by stupor. There many causes, one of which is PTSD. Source
> 
>  **C-rations** : was an individual canned, pre-cooked, and prepared wet ration. Source
> 
>  **NG tube** : Nasogastric intubation is a medical process involving the insertion of a plastic tube (nasogastric tube or NG tube) through the nose, past the throat, and down into the stomach. Source
> 
>  **TPN** : Total parenteral nutrition (TPN) is the feeding of a person intravenously, bypassing the usual process of eating and digestion. The person receives nutritional formulae that contain nutrients such as glucose, salts, amino acids, lipids and added vitamins and dietary minerals. Source
> 
>  **PEG tube** : Percutaneous endoscopic gastrostomy (PEG) is an endoscopic medical procedure in which a tube (PEG tube) is passed into a patient's stomach through the abdominal wall, most commonly to provide a means of feeding when oral intake is not adequate. Source
> 
>  **PICC** : A peripherally inserted central catheter (PICC or PIC line), is a form of intravenous access that can be used for a prolonged period of time. It is a catheter that enters the body through the skin (percutaneously) at a peripheral site (arm or upper chest), extends to the superior vena cava (a central venous trunk), and stays in place for days or weeks. Source


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art in this chapter by [ICouldDoThisAllDay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icoulddothisallday/pseuds/icoulddothisallday)

The door clicked shut, and they sat in silence for a moment as Steve stacked their abandoned cards. 

“Well, you guys wanna watch some Star Trek until dinner?” Steve asked, and Bucky breathed a sigh of relief that no one was asking him to decide what happened next.

Sam scowled and shook his head. “You guys watch the weirdest shit. How about we watch something good for once?”

“Oh? What do you suggest?” Steve inquired, looking more amused than anything.

“Have you guys watched any Dave Chappelle? He’s a comedian, they got a lot of his stuff on Netflix. Come on,” Sam declared as he headed to the living room.

Steve pushed his chair back but paused until Bucky caught up with him. Sam had staked out one end of the sofa and was typing on the laptop that he was casting to the TV. 

“It’s taking a sec to load, hang on,” he explained.

Steve took the middle of the sofa and Bucky was grateful that he wouldn’t have to drag the IV pole in front on the sofa with him. The comedy show cued up, and Bucky leaned slightly against Steve. He and Steve laughed along with Sam, though mostly they waited for Sam to pause and explain what jokes they didn’t get.

Near the end of show, everyone’s phones went off in tandem as the dinner text came through from Nat, who always sent group texts for Clint when she was in the Tower. 

_Dinner’s ready in the common. Clint ordered pizza instead of cooking… again. NR_

Sam and Steve chuckled, and even Bucky cracked a smile. He was feeling good, or at least better, and he figured he could pull off hanging out with the others while they ate, so he got up and worked on getting ready. 

Bucky unhooked the tubes; both the formula and saline bags were empty, and tossed them in the trash. Steve came up beside Bucky as he picked at the tape on his arm.

“Can I help?” Steve asked nodding at the IV line.

Bucky wanted to scream “No! I am a capable adult who can disconnect his own IV line,” but he knew that being so standoffish wasn’t fair to Steve. Keeping Steve at arms’ length wouldn’t help them build a stronger relationship, something which he remembered being extremely important to him not a week ago. After a deep breath, Bucky nodded to Steve.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Steve nodded and carefully peeled the tape away without yanking out the line with it. Once the tape was off, he pulled the catheter out so gently that Bucky barely registered it, even though he was watching. Steve put his thumb gently over the hole for a moment as he dropped the remainder of the tubing in the trash. They both knew it would clot and heal over within moments, so when he pulled his thumb away, there was only a tiny, already dried smear of blood. The pattern on his arm and Steve’s thumb were perfect matches, and it momentarily overwhelmed Bucky in a way that wasn’t entirely bad. 

So much of both Bucky and Steve’s lives had been tainted by blood, whether the blood of others or their own. To see his own blood mirrored perfectly on Steve’s skin felt like some kind of union, like the threads of their lives, which had frayed and been pulled apart, were being brought together again. Letting Steve see him bleed felt like being known in the most vulnerable and intimate of ways.

Steve must have been equally affected by the moment, because he leaned forward and left a light kiss on Bucky’s lips. Bucky’s disorientation increased exponentially for a moment before he crashed back to Earth at the sound of Sam’s voice.

“You guys coming to dinner or what? Kiss on your own time,” he called.

Bucky knew that Sam was just giving them shit and had no idea that they had kissed. Even though Steve had to be aware of that too, he still blushed slightly at being called out. Bucky couldn’t help but smirk at Steve’s pink cheeks as he walked into the living room, Steve trailing guiltily. Bucky retrieved the syringe from the bag and flushed a fair amount of water through the tube before they headed up to dinner.

*****

It took nearly four days on the tube for Bucky to come anywhere near normal day-to-day functioning. Mostly, he kept a routine around the apartment and put up enough effort in the gym to be considered trying. The only time he left the building in those days was to keep his appointment with Jonathan.

In general, Bucky’s anxiety didn’t last as long in the apartment because Sam or Steve made sure to be tactile and comforting. It wasn’t that they weren’t being supportive elsewhere, just that having others around ratcheted up the fear and anxiety that Bucky was already struggling against. He hated being so keyed up in the common at meal times, but no one, not even Clint, ever commented. Bucky supposed that Steve or Sam was likely running interference for him, but really it could have been nearly anyone. Hell, the file dump from SHIELD alone probably let them make all the inferences that they needed to see what had happened. 

In a way, it pissed him off. Bucky felt like he should have been able to field basic fucking questions about what was going on. He was conditioned, he wasn’t weak. He didn’t need handouts or kid gloves. Just because he didn’t want to talk about it didn’t mean that he couldn’t. Thankfully, the rational part of his brain kindly reminded him that he did, in fact, need a bit of gentle handling right now. Jonathan pointed out that gentle handling was actually good for him, too. If the conditioning was brutal, then the reconditioning would need to be the antithesis of that. Intense, yes, but gentle and even loving.

Sam and Steve, but especially Sam, had seen to the “loving” part of the equation. Bucky hadn’t been much for sex, feeling a little broken and a lot disgusted with himself, but Sam didn’t give up easily. 

Sam’s first attempt was to hit the gym with Bucky and then immediately shuck his shirt. Sam couldn’t do much with his ribs still on the mend, but he put on a good show anyway. And it worked… until it didn’t. Bucky’s eyes darkened because he _knew_ the game Sam was playing, but he was so in his own head that the thought of sex was more than he was willing to consider. The day after that, Sam didn’t bother with regular clothes, just thin pajama pants that left pretty much nothing to the imagination. Even Steve had to readjust himself in his pants a couple of times with that much Sam on display, especially given the intention. Bucky could tell that Sam got a kick out of getting Steve’s attention, but Sam still seemed determined not to get distracted by the other super soldier living with him. 

What finally did it for Bucky was opening the door to his bedroom after a shower and finding Sam naked on his bed languidly stroking himself. 

“Hey, baby, wanna come join me?” Sam purred.

“Sam, what the fuck are you doing?” Bucky groaned.

Sam shrugged and kept tugging at his dick. “Trying to get laid. What about you?”

“Sammy, come on. I feel gross. I just don’t want to fuck right now,” he complained.

“Baby, you just got out of the shower. You’re plenty clean. Besides, how many times have we fucked after missions caked in dirt and blood and god only knows what else?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes and glared. “You know what I mean. Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

“Mmmm. No, I think you should spell it out for me, hon,” Sam prodded.

Bucky gestured angrily at his nose. “This thing. I hate it and I feel gross. There? You happy now, Wilson? Get out of my bed,” Bucky demanded as he hitched his thumb towards the door.

Sam sighed and got up. Sam’s hands settled on Bucky’s hips, and he took a moment to stare before speaking. “Bucky, I know this isn’t easy. I bet it hurts like hell.”

“Yeah it does,” Bucky cut in.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, well it doesn’t change how I feel about you. In any way. If _you_ really don’t want to fuck I’ll go, but _I_ want to fuck. And more to the point I want to fuck _you_.”

“Why?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Baby, have you stood in front of a mirror lately?”

“Yeah, I have. I don’t like what I see, if we’re being honest,” admitted Bucky. Looking in the mirror for the first time after he had the tube had been crushing. He’d never seen it before, and it was horrifying to see how vulnerable he looked now, nevermind how vulnerable he must have been back then.

“Yeah. I have those days, but look. Remember all those times I’ve woken up screaming or crying or shaking and you were there? How we kissed and fucked until I believed when you said it would be okay? You think I felt remotely sexy or desirable? Hell no. I felt like utter shit. I felt weak and broken and couldn’t understand why you would want that. But that goes both ways, baby. You’re not less desirable because you were hurt. You were already hurt, and I already loved you.”

Bucky sucked a breath in. They had hinted at it but never explicitly said anything to each other. Not like that.

“I love you, too,” Bucky murmured.

Sam leaned forward and kissed Bucky, and Bucky tentatively, and then enthusiastically, returned it. Suddenly, they were backing towards the bed, and Bucky gently laid Sam down underneath him.

“Let me take care of you, Sammy,” he whispered.

Sam laughed. “That was kind of my plan for you. This what you want, though?”

“Yeah, just let me,” Bucky breathed.

“Yeah, alright,” Sam agreed.

*****

When Sam and Bucky emerged before dinner, Steve could tell that Bucky was more relaxed. It wasn’t a surprise. They hadn’t been particularly subtle about it -- and then there was the smell.

Bucky saw Steve smiling at him from the armchair and swaggered over.

“Hey, Buck, feeling better?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, quite a bit better actually.”

Steve nodded, still smiling. “Glad to hear it.”

Bucky silently ran his fingers along Steve’s jaw and then bent down for a kiss. It didn’t last long, but when he pulled back, Steve’s eyes were noticeably dilated.

*****

Going running with Steve had been Bucky’s first step towards something normal again that was more than just a facade. And, other than keeping his appointment with Jonathan, it was also the first time he left the Tower.

Steve wasn’t going easy on Bucky with the running, especially not after Bruce got his hands on high nutrient density formula. Bucky was honestly grateful to be able to really open up and use his body. The problem was that, even with the water in the formula, he still needed to drink while they were running. 

The first attempt had involved a great deal of fist clenching and deep breathing. He choked himself multiple times but managed not to cough, if only to keep the tube in place. After multiple gruelling attempts, the water got down the right way, and Steve gently gripped Bucky’s shoulder.

“You did real good, Buck. I’m proud of you,” Steve said, beaming.

It was like looking into the sun, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile back. And after every time he took a drink, Steve continued to reinforce how positive it was. After another couple of days of constant reinforcement, Bucky caught himself taking sips of water even when Steve wasn’t around, even in situations where other people were present. 

Bucky could really only drink safely from the one bottle without choking. Any other spout shape required a slightly different swallowing technique, and Bucky was all out of fucks to give about learning to swallow water in different ways. But even so, it was an improvement that let him feel more human, and it soothed the constant awareness he had of his struggles he had when he was around the rest of the team.

Unfortunately, this was the only significant gain Bucky made by the time that the team was called up. They managed to stay off standby for just over a week before some idiot in Taipei decided that opening a portal and letting Kree soldiers spill out into Parliament was a great plan. Wanda was ready to go back out, Clint’s concussion had been grudgingly cleared, and Sam figured eights days versus ten couldn’t really matter so much.

So while everyone else suited up and went out, Bucky sat in the apartment and stared at the wall. He had been working on all the things Jonathan had suggested -- mindfulness, breathing techniques, journaling, routine, exercise -- but alone in the apartment, he couldn’t care less. He was failing. He was failing at something so basic that newborns could do it. He couldn’t even go out on a mission and protect the people he loved. HYDRA would be disappointed in how non-operational he had become, and somehow that thought stung worst of all. Even after seventy years of conditioning and training and brainwashing, he still was inadequate for field work.

Bucky knew that he shouldn’t put much stock -- any, really -- in the people who programmed him to be little more than a machine, but it was some base failure that he couldn’t shake. He knew it didn’t make sense, either, because they had conditioned him to be unable to eat in the first place. It occurred to him then that there had always been reconditioning when he changed handlers, and why wouldn’t that be different here? They needed him to eat normal food rather than use a tube, and his inability to do so made him non-operational. It was unacceptable, but the solution was glaringly obvious.

In a moment of what he perceived to be clarity, Bucky peeled the adhesive pad off his cheek and drew the tube out of his nose. He pitched it in the trash with determination and went to the fridge. Before he had time to second guess his decision, he snagged a plum and bit down hard.

Instantly, he threw up the remainder of the last bolus of formula. His body was wracked with phantom pain, and he fell to the floor in his own vomit, spasming as his muscles registered electrical shocks that weren’t there. 

After several minutes. the pain abated, and he regained his coordination enough to sit up and grab the plum that had rolled away. With more determination than he ever remembered having, he lifted it to his mouth and took another bite. The process repeated itself. But Bucky kept doing it again and again because he knew that, eventually, the lack of actual punishment would break the response cycle. 

Bucky remembered well how conditioning and reconditioning were achieved, and he was determined not to disappoint Sam, Steve, or Jonathan anymore than he already had. He would do this himself with this same dedication HYDRA had used when they first unmade, and then remade, him. He would make himself operational. 

Eventually, Bucky lost count of the repetitions he put himself through. At some point, FRIDAY informed him that the team had successfully completed their mission and was en route. He only stopped when the AI warned him that the Quinjet had cleared American airspace over the west coast and would be arriving at the Tower in approximately seventy-six minutes. 

Bucky thanked the AI and gathered himself from the floor. First a shower and then the kitchen, he told himself. A new tube could be gathered later. He knew that the only thing worse than failing to eat would be failing to have an adequate intake of nutrition at all. For Jonathan, for Sam and for Steve, he would put the tube back.

*****

The first thing Steve noticed when he opened the door was the smell of bleach, which was undercut by the acrid odor of bile.

“Bucky?” he called out.

He stepped in the door and Sam came in behind him. Steve knew that Sam likely couldn’t smell all that he could, but it didn’t matter. The tension and desperation in the apartment were palpable. Whatever had happened Steve didn’t know, but something was clearly _wrong_. 

“Bucky, where are you?” Sam called out.

Bucky appeared from his bedroom smiling. “Hey guys, how did the mission go?”

Sam and Steve stared in disbelief. 

“We’re fine. What the hell happened here?” Sam asked.

Bucky continued smiling in that disconcerting way. “Nothing. I just mopped the floor is all.”

“And your tube?” Steve asked as he leaned his shield on the wall by the door.

“I tried to take a big drink of water. It didn’t go so well and the coughing made it come up. I would have already replaced it, but I don’t have access to the lab where Banner keeps the supplies,” he explained. 

“Bucky, we agreed that you would talk to us when you had problems. If you lie about it, we can’t help you,” Steve reminded him.

Bucky shook his head. “I’m fine. Nothing else happened.”

Steve stared back in determination. “Tell me the truth. Something is wrong, and if you won’t tell me what it is, I have to assume the worst and call Jonathan.”

Bucky’s facade immediately cracked. His face flashed to anger before settling on some combination of terror and resignation. Watching the fight between the two play out on Bucky’s face was gut wrenching, but before he could answer, Sam had crossed the room.

“Hey,” Sam started as he took Bucky’s hands in his own. “Hey. Come on. Let’s go sit down on the sofa. You’re not in trouble. I think we’ve had a misunderstanding. Come on.”

Bucky nodded and followed Sam to the sofa in a panic. Bucky’s eyes had the same wide look of utter terror and desolation they had when they had just gotten back from the Magadan op. Steve followed and pulled the coffee table out from the sofa so that he could sit on it. 

“Hey, Buck. I didn’t mean to scare you. That was my fault. Let’s talk about this, yeah? Sam and I are here for you. We just want to help,” Steve soothed.

“You just tell us when you’re ready,” Sam agreed.

*****

Bucky nodded but otherwise sat on the sofa, his wide eyes glancing alternately at Steve, Sam, and the floor through his hair. The Soldier had found himself in very few situations which were wholly unsalvageable, but this was definitely one of them. He had only made mistakes severe enough to require calling in another handler twice, and each time he had felt the pain from the punishments for days afterward, even with his healing factor. The thought that they might call Jonathan, though Bucky knew him to be kind, was utterly terrifying.

The last remaining vestiges of his rational thinking reminded him that Sam and Steve’s disappointment was actually concern and caring for his wellbeing. The well of panic currently governing his thoughts, however, told Bucky that his greatest chance to not to earn a worse punishment was to come clean, so he fortified himself with a deep breath.

“I wanted to prove to you that I could eat. I wanted to make you happy. I can’t go into the field because I am non-operational, and I am non-operational because I can’t eat normally. The initial conditioning process involved repetition, and when I was reconditioned by different handlers for different things, the reconditioning also involved repetition. That’s how this works. Either you learn to respond because of a stimulus or learn not to respond due to a lack of one. In this case, I was attempting to modify my conditioning for you by repetition of eating. Without negative reinforcement, the conditioning will eventually weaken, and I will become functional,” he explained.

Sam took a deep breath and nodded stiffly. Steve put his head in his hands for a second.

“Thank you for explaining that to us, Bucky,” Sam murmured while rubbing his hand over Bucky’s back. “You did real well. I think that, for you, this makes perfect sense to do what you’re doing, and you’re not wrong that conditioning can work that way. There are other ways to change your conditioning, though. I think Steve and I would rather work with you in those ways. I think that Jonathan would rather you work in those ways, too.”

Steve caught Bucky looking up at him through his hair and nodded his agreement with Sam. 

“I think it’s great that you’re trying, Bucky. Can you tell us more about what you did exactly?” Steve pressed.

Bucky swallowed hard, then chided himself for having thoughts about what they wanted from him, and then chided himself again for thinking that Steve and Sam would ever be anything like HYDRA or his old handlers…. HYDRA or his handlers, Bucky corrected himself. He no longer had handlers. 

“I pulled my tube and went to the kitchen with the intention of eating. I bit into a plum and experienced the conditioned responses to food. After the response passed, I repeated the process until FRIDAY informed me that the team was en route to the Tower. I then showered and cleaned the kitchen.”

Sam and Steve each took a few more turns gently prying the true details of his experience out him. By the time that he explained the vomiting, muscle spasms, and phantom nerve pain, he had come out of his disordered thinking enough to realize that this had been an awful idea. 

“I don’t know. It’s just that once you guys left, I felt hopeless. I’ve constantly been fighting the conditioning since Magadan -- honestly, since DC. All the thinking that goes with it has been right below the surface, and I let my guard down. It just washed in, and I lost my grip on what was real. I tried to fix it the only way that I knew how.”

“Yeah, but you also made a choice. You decided what you _wanted_ to do, and even though it went against some pretty awful conditioning you did it. You took control of a shitty situation. I’d wager that’s a pretty big thing. I mean, do you think you’d have done that before?” Sam reasoned.

Bucky thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No. No, I wouldn’t have dared to try to modify my conditioning. That was not my place, and I knew it.”

“So maybe you framed some of the things you’re feeling now and some of the things that you want now in terms of something that you’re familiar with. Is that reasonable to say?” Sam queried.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I think so. I framed you as my handlers in my head, because that’s a relationship I understand -- not better than my relationship with you, but maybe it’s just more familiar. Like shoes that fit and aren’t uncomfortable versus shoes that are well broken in. Neither hurts, but you have less awareness of them when you wear the broken in pair. I think the lack of awareness of it is how I made the mistake.”

Sam nodded. “That’s a good analogy. So if you put it in terms of your life now, what were you wanting?”

Bucky smiled tiredly. “That's easy. Control. I want to control all of it -- my place on the team and when I go back to the field, what and when and how I eat, how you see me, because I feel weak, and I hate that you might see me like that, even if I know you don't. I want to be normal.”

Steve and Sam nodded their understanding and Bucky lit upon a plan. 

“I’m going to call Jonathan and talk to him for a bit while you two go take showers,” Bucky declared.

“That sounds great Buck,” said Steve.

“Take your time,” Sam encouraged. 

“You too. You both smell like shit,” Bucky snarked.

Steve and Sam both laughed and headed off to wash up.

*****

Steve stood in the shower and thought about everything that had just transpired. Immediately, Steve began to have doubts about a relationship with Bucky. Where Sam had calmed Bucky down and helped reorient him, Steve had scared him to the point of panic. What could Steve honestly give to Bucky that Sam couldn’t? In the field, he could protect Bucky with the serum and the shield, but at home what was he? Minus the bells and whistles, what was there to love that was just Steve?

The more he thought about it, the more Steve came to the conclusion that both of them were best served in the relationship they had always had. Bucky could be happy and loved by Sam, and Steve could be the soldier that he was made to be, that he was loved for. There was no need to burden Bucky with himself any more than he already did.

 

Steve and Sam reappeared around the same time. Technically, it was Sam’s turn to make dinner. He was determined not to be Clint and order take out, so he had done all the dinner prep and assembly before they left. All he had to do was pull it out of the freezer and pop it in the oven. So while Sam went up the common, Steve hung around in his room and began his report while Bucky finished up his call to Jonathan. 

Bucky found Steve determinedly typing on his laptop with headphones on. 

“Hey punk,” Bucky called. When he got no response he tried again, a bit louder. 

“HEY!” he shouted.

Steve yanked the headphones off and closed his laptop. “Hey, how’s it going?”

Bucky invited himself into Steve’s room and plopped down on his bed. “I’m better. Jonathan helped me get my head back on right.”

“That’s good, Buck. Is there anything I can do to help?” Steve asked.

Bucky laid back on the bed, his legs hanging off the side. “I need to go down to Banner’s lab and get another tube.”

After a pause Steve asked, “Do you want me to go with you?”

Bucky nodded instantly. “Yeah, that sounds good. Hey, you wanna stay in tonight? Maybe watch a movie?”

Steve set his laptop aside and laid down the opposite way so that his head was next to Bucky’s. “That sounds great. I can eat leftovers, and I’ll get you the finest high nutrient density formula money can buy.”

“God, shut up, Steve,” Bucky groaned.

Steve laughed lightly. “Not a chance.”

Bucky sighed and reached an arm up to gently punch Steve. 

“Let me know when you’re ready to go down to the lab,” Steve finally murmured.

“In a little while. I think I just want to lay here,” Bucky decided.

Bucky had already had one hell of an awful day, and he was glad that Steve understood if he was spent. After a minute, Steve leaned his head over to Bucky and rested it lightly on his temple. Bucky immediately leaned into the touch and sighed. They stayed like that until Sam texted a while later.

_Dinner’s ready. You two coming up? SW_

_I think we’ll stay in. Is Bruce there? SR_

_Yeah. You need him? SW_

Steve turned his head to look at Bucky. “Hey, they’re about to eat. Wanna get your stuff before Bruce settles in?”

Bucky drew in a deep breath and nodded. He figured he couldn’t put this off forever. Steve was already pecking out another text. 

_Yeah. Can you have him meet us at his lab in 5? We gotta get a replacement tube. SR_

_Done. Later SW_

_Later SR_

Steve nudged Bucky. “Come on. Bruce’s gonna meet us there and then get back to dinner. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

Bucky nodded and followed Steve resignedly. Halfway to the elevator, Steve took Bucky’s hand. Bucky pulled in close, plastering himself against Steve, grateful for the gesture. Anyone else, and they would have said that holding hands was “too intimate.” But he and Steve could touch each other just as friends, like they used to do back before the war, even if no one else understood what it meant now. They stayed close until they rounded the corner to the lab. Only then did Bucky back off and let go of Steve’s hand.

“Hey guys. Cough it up did you?” Bruce inquired as they entered the lab.

Bucky put on his game face and nodded in feigned annoyance. “Yeah, I was drinking water and not focusing and, yeah, you guessed the rest.”

Bruce nodded and led the way. “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t do it sooner. With all the coughing and choking you’ve been struggling with, eight days is a hell of a streak without dislodging it.”

He rummaged in a cabinet and produced a couple of replacement tubes along with another case of formula. “Go ahead and take all this. You’re probably nearly out of the last case I gave you. If you need anything else, just let me know, but I’m going to try to stay out of your hair on this. Oh, and here’s some replacement acid paper.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said with a nod. He took the box, and Steve took the bag of supplies.

“We’ll let you get back to dinner. Thanks for meeting us,” Steve said as they departed the lab.

“Hey, no problem. You guys not coming?”

Steve shook his head. “Nah. I’m tired, and I think we’re gonna call it a night.”

Bruce nodded and followed them down the hall after closing up the lab again. “Night,” he called after them.

“Night,” they returned.

*****

Steve put the case formula in the pantry and then followed Bucky into his room where he was seated at the foot of the bed. Steve sat down next to him and dropped the bag at their feet. Bucky eyed the bag like it was a serpent but gathered it up nonetheless.

“Well, better not draw out the inevitable. Gimme a minute,” Bucky grumbled as he stalked towards the bathroom.

“Buck,” Steve called, “if you need to do this yourself I get that, but if you want some help I don’t mind.”

Bucky stopped and turned back to Steve. “I have to do it myself, but I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Nodding, Steve rose and followed him into the bathroom where he laid out the supplies. Bucky worked to prepare everything with impressive efficiency and then fed the tube down his nose with no hesitation. After using the acid paper to make sure that it was correctly placed, he applied a couple of layers of adhesive, sandwiching the tube in between. The hairband he wore to hold the tube pocket was already on the counter, and he pulled his hair back before securing pocket with a bobby pin. 

Steve leaned against the door jamb and tried to keep his face neutral, since Bucky seemed to be feeding off of his emotional stability.

Bucky tossed all the detritus of the procedure into the trash and smiled at Steve in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. Steve thought that something was forthcoming when Bucky looked at him like that, but he just stood there, waiting.

“Does it hurt?” Steve finally asked.

Bucky looked down at the counter, like there was something there to help him answer the question. “Yeah, it’s fucking miserable.”

“You make it look easy.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’ve been through it so many times. My eyes used to water, and I used to gag or throw up, but that was inconvenient. There was conditioning for that too. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, though.”

“Is it better once it’s in?”

“Not really. I can feel it constantly. It rubs my throat raw. I can feel it every time I talk. My nose always aches, too. The pain of putting it in goes away, but then there’s other pain, and it’s not better, just different.”

Steve nodded and watched Bucky stare hard at the pergo flooring in the bathroom. He wanted to offer some comfort, but he couldn’t think of anything. There wasn’t anything easy about this, if the day’s events were anything to go by, and he couldn’t bring himself to try to lie to Bucky, not that it would do anything but piss him off anyway. Eventually, he settled for comfort and distraction.

“Come on. Let’s pick out something to watch and sit on the sofa. I gotta eat, and you need a couple bags of formula.”

“Can we watch it on your laptop? I want to lay in bed.”

“Sure, Buck. Mine or yours?”

“Yours?” Bucky asked apprehensively.

“I offered. I’m gonna put on some pajamas and grab that food, if you wanna pick out whatever we’re gonna watch. I’m sure you know the password to my laptop by now,” Steve joked as he went to the kitchen to forage.

*****

Bucky snorted at Steve’s comment and then grimaced at the sensation. He tromped over to his dresser and changed into pajamas. He grabbed the IV pole from its place by his bed where he hid for most of his “meals.” Bucky went to Steve’s room, where he was already devouring a mountain of sandwiches and whatever leftovers he had scrounged from the fridge. Steve had laid a couple of boluses on the end table on the other side of the bed.

Steve finished one sandwich and started in on another as Bucky got settled along side him. The anxiety of watching Steve eat was manageable but still just under the surface. Steve, for his part, talked through the whole meal about the episodes of Star Trek that he had watched without Bucky. It kept up enough interest for Bucky that he didn’t get too far into his own head. It also helped that Steve plastered himself against Bucky’s side the entire time. He may have been a lot closer to food than he wanted, but it was worth it for the warmth he got from Steve.

Once the plate was empty, Steve took it to the kitchen and started to fiddle with the laptop, since Bucky hadn’t ever gotten around to it. Bucky hooked up his dinner, since the stomach-twisting anxiety had abated enough for him to be able to put something into it, and he leaned heavily against Steve. He was out halfway into the first episode, but Steve let it play until the first bolus was empty. After he shut down his laptop, he extracted himself and delicately hooked up the other bag before pulling a blanket over them both, still sitting up in bed.

*****

When Steve woke up the next morning, it was to Bucky sitting up next to him, another bag already hung on the stand, surfing the internet.

“Hey, Stevie, morning,” he drawled. His Brooklyn accent was always thicker before he’d had a chance to talk to anyone else.

Steve smiled up at him. “Mmmm,” he mumbled, still mostly asleep.

Bucky chuckled and let him stretch and groan a bit as he woke up before trying to engage him anymore. “You awake yet, punk?”

“More or less. You sound like you got a reason to ask,” Steve observed.

Bucky shrugged and smiled, a little too wanly for Steve this early in the morning. “I talked with Jonathan, and he agreed that I could try some more intense reconditioning techniques, if I wanted to. I wanted to get started on those today with you and Sam.”

Steve’s stomach clenched, and he yawned to make sure that it didn’t register on his face before he had a chance to reign it in. It was a long fake yawn.

“Well, if you and Jonathan think it’s a good plan, then I’m on board. Let me wake up a bit more first,” Steve lied. He was plenty awake, but he needed some time, and he needed to see what Sam would say.

When Steve’s growling stomach hindered any further delays, they dragged themselves out of bed and to the kitchen, where Sam was eating a bowl of oatmeal. Bucky pulled out a chair and sat down with his bag stand behind him. Steve bumbled around in the fridge before settling on a protein shake, because all he had to do was shake it vigorously and drink.

Sam eyed Steve warily but said nothing as he joined them at the table. 

“So, Buck, what kind of reconditioning were you wanting to do?” Steve asked with feigned calm.

Sam swallowed his mouthful of oatmeal and put the spoon down like his appetite had just departed. 

“I’ve been researching operant conditioning, and I talked about it with Jonathan. I’m not making a helluva lot of progress just sitting around watching you guys eat. I figure if the conditioning was intense, the reconditioning will have to be, too. He agreed. I think he knew as much but was waiting for it to be my decision. 

“So, basically, instead of a punishment based system of eating and experiencing pain, we would go the other leg of the conditioning flowchart, which is reward. I do something and someone gives me a good thing. I’ll learn to associate food with enjoyment, plus the negative consequence won’t be there, either, so it’s really a double hitter.”

“Alright, so what are we talking? You eat and I give you a blow job?” Sam joked.

Bucky chuckled. “I mean, I won’t object, but there’s usually some vomiting involved, so that might get a little gross. Jonathan said that eating should be paired with encouragement, praise, and physical comfort. I don’t know about all that, it seems a little soft to me, but he said to try it.”

“Yeah, it’s a little touchy feely, but it’s a solid plan. I think you should go with it,” Sam replied.

Steve nodded his agreement. “So when do we start?”

“Give this bag an hour to settle so I don’t throw it up, and if you guys are ready, we could go to work. I think it would be best if it was only one of you here, though. I don’t want you both to get worn out.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, that sounds smart. I can take the first leg of this, Sam.”

“Knock yourself out,” Sam replied to Steve before turning to Bucky. “Good luck baby. I’ll be back later, and if you’re feeling well enough, I can make all that hard work worth your while,” Sam offered with a smirk that suggested just how he planned to make it worth Bucky’s while.

“I’ll let you know, bird brains,” Bucky promised.

*****

While they waited for Bucky’s stomach to empty, Steve worked on his report and talked through the events with Bucky. Talking through it made it easier to articulate as he wrote it up. While they talked, Bucky meandered around the apartment. He grabbed towels, a mop, a bucket, a blanket, and a host of cleaning supplies. He took off his pajamas and put on some gym shorts but nothing else. No sense in dirtying up a whole set of clothes with this endeavor.

As Steve was finally finishing up the main part of his report, Bucky pulled some liquid from the tube and checked to see that his breakfast feeding had left his stomach. Then he carefully pulled the tube and rinsed it. The other one, he figured, was due to be pitched anyway, given how long he had had it. However, this one had been in just over twelve hours, and if nothing else, the Depression had taught him not to waste. He curled it up on the counter and then waited patiently for Steve in the doorway to the kitchen. 

Steve pecked out the final few words of his report, saved, and then closed the laptop. He put on his best game face before turning around.

“Alright, Buck. You ready to get this show on the road?”

Bucky tried for nonchalant, but it ended up as just plain resigned. “Yep.”

“We got a goal for today?” Steve asked as he followed Bucky to the kitchen.

“Five tries.”

Steve looked a little hesitant, but his voice was steady. “That's a lot, Buck.”

“The sooner we get started, the sooner we'll be done, and the sooner I'll be free of this shit. It'll be worth it,” he said with a shrug.

Steve conceded the point with a nod and sat on the kitchen floor where Bucky pointed.

*****

To say that it was an awful experience would have undercut it greatly. Bucky felt like he had two things going for him on the previous day: solitude and being mostly emotionally numb, with a side dish of seriously disordered thinking. But as he lay spasming on the floor with his head in Steve’s lap, he had neither of those small comforts.

The softness of whatever it was that Steve was saying as stroked Bucky’s hair contrasted sharply with the wracking pain. It made him hyperaware of his vulnerability, of his humiliation, and of the true intensity of the physical pain. He had managed to weather the worst of it alone on the kitchen floor by shutting off, but this situation didn’t allow that. He couldn’t relearn to feel the safety, security, and love that he needed if he didn’t first work through the fear, vulnerability, and pain. 

After the worst of it wore off, Bucky started to collect himself from the floor and sit up. 

“Well that was round one. Ready for another?” Bucky joked.

“Sure thing Buck. Whenever you’re ready,” Steve said with his old showgirl smile.

Bucky knew the smile was fake, because if Steve could honestly smile in this situation, there was something wrong with him. Still, it was reassuring to see Steve so steady when felt like he was flying into pieces on the inside.

He took a couple of fortifying breaths, which ended up being shaky as all hell, and spooned himself another small bite of applesauce. Steve sat behind Bucky, and as Bucky lifted the spoon to his mouth, he gently threaded his fingers through Bucky’s hair to hold it out of the way of the inevitable. 

“You got this Buck,” he murmured.

*****

It took until around lunch time to get all five rounds of reconditioning done. Bucky was exhausted and accepted Steve’s offer to let him rest on the floor while he gathered the refuse of their morning work. Planning for the event had eliminated the mopping and showering portions of the clean up. All Steve had to do was rinse the bucket out and throw the towels in the wash.

By the time Steve finished, Bucky was sitting up. He leaned against the cabinets with a lopsided smile that was clearly not genuine. 

“I think I’m ready for a nap. How about you Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m kind of worn out myself. Let’s get you set up, and you can snack while you snooze.”

Bucky couldn’t have looked more adverse to the idea if he had tried.

Steve came over and sat next to him. “Buck, I know it’s awful, but you just made it through a couple hours of really terrible work. Let’s get this over with, and you can come rest. I’ll place it for you, if that would help.”

Bucky suddenly felt like he was too big for his skin and simultaneously nothing more imposing than a weak child. The incongruity of his self perception made it hard to process what actions he needed to take. He made a series of jerky, aborted movements. Some soothed the feeling under his skin -- pulling his hair back with his fingers, stretching his legs out, scrubbing his hands over his face. Other movements attempted to shield his vulnerabilities -- crossing his arms tightly over his chest, tucking his head down towards his chest, drawing his knees in close. Bucky cycled between the motions, not settling in any particular state. After a minute of watching him, Steve must have realized that Bucky was too overwhelmed to pull it together at that moment, so he gently patted Bucky’s knee and went to gather the supplies. 

When Steve came back, he sat again in front of Bucky’s hunched form and ran a soothing hand over his knee. “Buck, hey, look at me.”

Bucky raised his head and peered through his hair, struggling to be still enough to seem sane, even if he _knew_ he wasn’t.

“Hey pal, I got the stuff here. I’m gonna do this for you. All you gotta do is swallow, alright? Here,” Steve pressed Bucky’s water bottle into his hand, “drink some water while I’m doing it, and it should go down better.”

Bucky nodded mechanically and let Steve tilt his head back a bit. He bunched his eyes shut, the intimacy of it so much greater than any sex he had ever had. He was overwhelmed and stripped of the last of his protections.

“Here we go. Be done in just a second, Buck.”

Steve gently but steadily advanced the tube until it reached the mark they had measured out the last time it went in. He checked the placement and got all the adhesive patches arranged just so before tucking the tube behind Bucky’s ear and pinning the pouch under his hairband. 

“That was good Buck. I know that was painful, but you did good. I’ve got the stand ready by my bed. Let’s go lie down for a while together,” Steve urged him.

Bucky followed, because it was easier than trying to parse what was going on around him. Steve was being gentle and kind, and he wasn’t trying to ruin that. It was overwhelming and confusing, because everything he thought at the moment seemed far worse than whatever was occurring around him. 

Steve connected a bolus to Bucky’s tube and tucked them both in as they reclined back on a mountain of pillows that had been acquired for just this purpose. He wrapped around Bucky like a tentacled sea creature, and Bucky quickly returned the gesture. Steve was relieved when Bucky fell asleep nearly immediately. He could have a nice silent cry to himself, with the added bonus that Bucky wouldn’t notice that he never bothered to eat.

*****

Sam ended up taking a somewhat differing approach to reconditioning with Bucky. Lots of contact, kind words, and patience, sure, but neither of them could quite drop the shit that permeated their relationship.

Bucky was finally done with his third and final attempt of the afternoon, and he was regaining his coordination and awareness while Sam petted his hair.

“You alright?” Sam asked.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, which lacked the intended snark since his head was still in Sam’s lap. “Peachy,” he retorted.

“Oh, good. I didn’t want to have pick up all this mess myself.”

“I could fucking punch you, Wilson,” grumbled Bucky.

“Oh, could you? Well, if you can punch, you can clean. Up and at ‘em,” teased Sam.

Bucky mumbled something very crass in Russian as he struggled to his feet. He snatched up the tube, the pouch, and his hairband from the counter and stalked unsteadily off to the bathroom. When he emerged, Sam was sitting at the kitchen table playing Angry Birds on his phone. Predictably, everything was already clean and put away. 

“Thanks, asshole,” Bucky muttered as he sat next to Sam.

Sam just smiled.

*****

After two more days of reconditioning, Bucky appeared to go from vomiting, muscle spasms, and pain to vomiting, tonic-clonic seizures, and pain. Bucky had to explain to both Sam and Steve that a side-effect of the repeated electrical shocks, some of which were to his head, was that the conditioning process had induced quite a few seizures. The appearance of seizures, which weren’t actually seizures at all according to Jonathan and a CT scan, was part of the extinction curve, Sam explained to Steve. Steve trusted their collective expertise on the matter, and, of course, all the out-patient tests they had done in the meantime. All the same, he was relieved when they let up and then stopped altogether, after another few days.

Of course, by the time that the seizures stopped, Steve had stopped paying attention to his food alarms. Steve was careful to eat around Bucky, because his comfort with food was part of Bucky unlearning his fears, but if no one was around, Steve couldn’t stand the thought. He wasn’t afforded too many mealtimes alone, but he got away with what he could, mostly working lunches on miscellany for Hill where he could become absorbed in the work and forget about anything else.

Steve knew it was a bad idea to turn off his meal alarms, but rather than work on eating normally, he just got better at seeming to eat in the common. Not even Sam noticed how he would plate up a huge serving and then, when no one was watching, head back over for something he “forgot” and return most of it to the pot. At least, Steve _thought_ no one was watching. 

They were two weeks into the reconditioning before Nat finally cornered Steve when he was alone in the gym.

“What’s going on, Steve?” she asked without preamble.

“Nothing. You?” he returned.

“No, Steve. You know what I mean. I know Barnes isn’t well. You’re taking on a lot of his care yourself. I get that. But why aren’t _you_ eating?”

Steve nearly dropped the weights he was lifting. He immediately realized the error in this plans when he remembered just how utterly futile it was to try and fool Natasha Romanov, so he moved on to a half truth.

“Nat, I’m fine. My appetite has just been down lately now that I’m spending so much time with Bucky. I’m not in the field as often, but I’m fine.”

Nat snorted and sat on a weight bench. “You’re full of shit, Rogers.”

“Nat, I’m fine,” he insisted.

“Right. You’re fine. That’s why you’re trying to fool everyone, not just Barnes. That’s also why you started therapy a few months ago, which also happens to coincide with the end of your last bout of self deprivation. But go ahead and tell me more about how wrong I am.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. She predictably did not relent.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted.

Nat nodded. “I know. And I know that if you don’t get your shit together, one of us _will_ pay the price. You can’t take care of someone else if you can’t take care of yourself first. I’m not speculating, Rogers. It’s what happens when you don’t take care of your problems. Look what happened to Barnes. I’m not blaming him, because he can’t control what they did to him or how it came back, but it happened just the same. You take care of your problems, or they bite you in the ass. 

“So listen up, because you’re treading in dangerous waters here. You start taking care of yourself -- however you need to do that -- or the alternative won’t be as fun.”

“The alternative?” Steve asked, eyebrow cocked up.

“The alternative is that I’ll simply tell everyone what you’re doing. If I’ve caught it, you know FRIDAY has. We can watch the security tapes and pass around some popcorn. See how long it takes for Hill to bench you. I bet Barnes would have a thing or two to say about it, too,” she said. Natasha leaned forward and her voice went icy. “You think I won’t.”

Steve thought no such thing. He knew exactly how serious she was.

“Fine. I’ll call my therapist about this when I finish.”

“You’re finished _now_ ,” she explained to him.

Steve understood and picked his phone up from the floor. “I’m finished now, Nat.”

He shifted uncomfortably on the bench while the phone rang through to voicemail. His therapist was probably in a session, but Nat listened intently to the message that he left. When he was done, she nodded her approval and left the gym without another word.

Steve leaned forward and rested his elbows against his knees, wondering why he couldn’t keep it together. Something as simple as eating, which Steve was learning was not even remotely simple, was apparently something that now required intervention. 

Nat was right, though. If he didn’t keep his health together, he couldn’t be available for Bucky or for the team. And if Steve couldn’t be there for them, then what, exactly, was he there for?

He sighed and gathered his things, determined to eat something resembling a meal out of nothing but spite.

*****

The next major changes in Bucky’s reconditioning came three days after the seizures stopped. The rounds of biting on food and spending quality floor time didn’t improve, but his tolerance for being around it and being offered it did. Mealtimes lost their edge nearly entirely, and he was noticeably more relaxed at the table, even when someone put a plate in front of him.

Sam rewarded Bucky by taking him apart for several hours after the first time he held a conversation during dinner. In the meantime, Steve watched a movie with Clint and Natasha in the common to escape the noise. He made it a point to put half of a slice of pizza in his mouth at once while making eye contact with Natasha. She laughed quietly. Clint just looked uncomfortable and moved to the other side of the room to avoid their “eye fucking or whatever.”

*****

After another week of daily reconditioning Bucky bit into a slice of toast, gagged repeatedly but did not throw up. He still had to suffer through the muscle spasms and pain, but he grinned like a fool when he finally managed to sit up.

“We’re getting there, Steve.” He smiled.

Steve was so overjoyed that he nearly cried, and he wondered when he became such a crier. Bucky gave, and also took, a crushing hug from Steve as his just reward for all his work. 

The vomiting came and went over the next week until, after that, it just went. The spasms were next, shortening in duration and intensity. And as the spasms went, the pain began to follow. 

The overall trend toward recovery was a good one, but the individual days were usually hell. Sam had to take weekends at his mama’s house more often, and he and Bucky took to actually fighting. Bucky was stuck in that liminal space in complex PTSD where he couldn’t settle on “fuck you, don’t touch me” or “please let me lie in your lap while I fall apart.” That meant that sometimes when Sam made a joke at Bucky’s expense, he laughed and leaned in for a hug and other times he shouted a few swear words before stalking off and slamming the door. Those were the days where Sam found somewhere else to be. 

Steve and Bucky fought in other ways. Steve was endlessly patient and kind, and sometimes Bucky couldn’t stand it.

“I’m not fucking made of glass, Rogers. Stop it with the goddamn coddling,” he snapped one day.

“ _You_ asked for this, Buck. This is part of the process. I’m not being nice because I think you’re weak, I’m doing it because that’s how we’re gonna beat this,” Steve reminded him.

“Whatever,” Bucky shot back.

“Alright, well, I need a break, so I’m gonna go hit the gym for a while. You can come if you want.”

Bucky angrily threw the apple at the opposing wall, leaving an apple-sized divot. Apple shrapnel stuck in the indentation and juice trickled down the wall. Moments later, the living room door clicked shut as Steve left. Bucky felt instantly defeated. Sam was already gone to his mama’s house, so it was just him and Steve, since Steve never took days off from the reconditioning except when he was out on missions.

Guiltily, Bucky cleaned up the kitchen and headed down to the gym. Steve was working up a nice sweat on the rowing machine when Bucky came in. He kept going to finish his set while Bucky patiently waited beside him.

“What’s up?” Steve asked as he pulled off his headphones.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I know you’re not doing anything wrong. Sometimes I just can’t get my head on right.”

Steve swung his leg over to sit sideways on the seat facing Bucky. “I know. I’m not mad. It’s all part of the process. I just wish you’d take a breath before yelling at me or Sam. We love you, and it hurts.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m an ass,” Bucky muttered.

“Yeah, well you’re here, so you might as well get your workout in. I guess having an ass for a gym buddy is better than nobody,” Steve joked.

“You like this ass,” Bucky countered as he wriggled on the bench an unnecessary amount while adjusting his positioning.

Steve shrugged and chuckled as he moved on to the shoulder press. Bucky joined in the routine, and before long they were laughing their way back up to the apartment.

*****

After the pain had dwindled down to no more than something easily ignored, he started taking small bites. Unfortunately, after so long without eating properly, Bucky discovered that he had again forgotten how eating actually worked, not that he had been particularly good at it before. Steve and Sam took a collective breath of fresh air when Jonathan referred Bucky to an occupational therapist. Neither of them were invited to the sessions, to their great relief, and the results were seemingly miraculous. In fairness, the therapist had never worked with someone with Bucky’s particular issues, so their enthusiasm at his rate of improvement might have been excessive, but no one was arguing after the past month.

After about two weeks of OT, Bucky was able to eat semi-regularly, and he took to removing the tube during the day. It let him feel normal around other people. He still put it back at night so that he could supplement, because eating was still a bit of a trial that, more often than not, did not meet his needs. 

After about a week of Bucky picking carefully at his dinners in the common, Clint bought a cake, because god knew he couldn’t bake, which said “Congratulations on being able to eat things again.” Bucky gave Clint a glare and a gentle punch to the arm in return before carefully cutting the cake and doling out pieces to everyone present. No one commented, but it was obvious he was quite pleased about it himself. 

In the meantime, he still wasn’t cleared for field duty. It was a sore spot, but he was less upset about it than he had been. Jonathan had made it clear that he was on the homestretch, so long as he kept up with his assignments and continued to meet his goals. Being a sniper, Bucky had learned a thing or two about patience, and he bided his time until he got his clearance for field work. 

Bucky made the best of his time off. He went to all the major museums within a three-hour radius. He and Sam took Makayla and Jaclynn, Sam’s nieces, to the movies, to the park, and to the zoo. And Bucky finally made time to walk around Brooklyn where he had grown up. In short, Bucky used the time to be a person with no objective other than living. 

He had been so sure that he would be bored while he was benched, but when he realized how much of the world he had to catch up on, Bucky was glad that he had been afforded the opportunity, despite all that had happened to land him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Complex PTSD** : Complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD); is a psychological disorder exhibiting features similar to borderline personality disorder (BPD) and post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), thought to occur as a result of repetitive, prolonged trauma involving harm or abandonment by a caregiver or other interpersonal relationships with an uneven power dynamic. C-PTSD is associated with sexual, emotional or physical abuse or neglect in, among other things, victims of kidnapping and hostage situations and prisoners of war. Situations involving captivity/entrapment (a situation lacking a viable escape route for the victim or a perception of such) can lead to C-PTSD-like symptoms, which include prolonged feelings of terror, worthlessness, helplessness, and deformation of one's identity and sense of self. Source


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky was confident in his assessment of the situation when he decided that things were looking up. It had been over a month since he tossed the last NG tube in the trash can, and he had his psych clearance from Jonathan in hand. He decided to walk a couple miles to savor the moment before cramming himself uncomfortably into a subway car. 

As he walked, he tried to think of a way to celebrate, but he kept coming up dry until he ran into a flower seller. Immediately, he knew. The last time he and Steve had gone on a date, Bucky had promised to take Steve on the next one, and it was high time to get on with that plan. He shelled out what was, in his opinion, far too much money for a single rose, but he smiled all the same as he finally descended the stairs to the nearest subway line. 

All the way back, Bucky carefully guarded the rose from the crush of passengers, and when he arrived at the Tower, he practically leapt up the steps. He was bouncing with excitement when he stepped into their apartment and Sam and Steve looked up in askance.

“Did you get laid while you were out?” Sam asked.

Bucky laughed and shook his head. “Nope, but I did get my letter from Jonathan.”

Steve and Sam both got up from the sofa and met Bucky halfway. Bucky happily accepted hearty hugs from them both. 

“I’m proud of you, Buck,” Steve murmured against Bucky’s ear before he pulled away.

Sam took a different tack. “Lemme reward that later, baby.”

Bucky flushed with pleasure at both comments.

“So I gotta ask, baby, why are you hiding that rose under your jacket?” Sam asked when they finally parted.

Slipping his hand under the back of his jacket, Bucky retrieved the rose from where he had hidden it in the elevator. He mock glared at Sam for ruining the surprise. He continued to glare as he ripped one end off the little box that the rose came in, extracted the mostly unmolested flower, and dropped the debris on the sofa. Sam just laughed, and Bucky was too happy to pretend to be angry any longer.

Bucky inclined his head, smile firmly in place again. “I was thinking about asking Rogers here out on a date. I said I’d take him on the next one, and I figure it’s about damn time.” 

“Hey, you two have fun. I’m gonna make sure Scott doesn’t burn down the kitchen. It’s his turn to cook, and he’s determined not to order takeout like Clint,” Sam explained as he pulled on his sneakers.

Without giving either Steve or Bucky the chance to argue, Sam walked out the apartment. 

Bucky turned back to Steve and held out the rose. “Well, Stevie, you gonna let me take you on a date?”

Steve looked at the rose but didn’t reach for it. “Bucky, I don’t know about this. I- you’ve got Sam and I- I don’t really have any business getting in between you two.”

Bucky lowered his outstretched hand. “We talked about this. I was under the impression that Sam made his feelings on the matter _very_ clear, so what’s really the problem?”

Steve looked at the floor and stuffed his hands in his pocket. “I don’t know, Buck. It just doesn’t seem like the right thing to do.”

Bucky nodded in a way meant anything other than agreement. He wasn’t sure how he felt yet about being turned down after their first date had been so enthusiastic. But a lot had happened between the first date and right then. It occurred to Bucky what exactly “a lot” had been -- reconditioning. Vomiting, muscle spasms, seizures, crying, yelling, fights, and Bucky walking around with that goddamn tube taped to his face for over a month. He didn’t cringe, cringing had long since been beaten out of him, but inside he wanted to curl into a tiny ball to get away from the knowledge that HYDRA had changed him so much that even Steve couldn’t want him anymore. Not now that he knew.

Bucky looked at the floor for a second to gain some balance and then he met Steve’s eyes. “Alright. I get it, Rogers. I won’t ask again.” 

He held out his evaluation letter to Steve, and as soon as Steve took it, Bucky was off. He tossed the rose in the trash can on his way by the kitchen. It didn’t take him more than thirty seconds to grab his and Sam’s go bags from their rooms.

“Call us if there’s a mission,” Bucky bit out as he slammed the door behind him.

Bucky didn’t want to go to the common, but he also had to get off their floor, so he took the stairs down two flights to the gym. He dropped the overnight bags on the floor and sat down at the chest press to text Sam.

_I wanna get out of here. Can we go to your mama’s for the weekend? JB_

_What happened? SW_

_He turned me down. JB_

_Shit. Yeah we can go. Lemme call her and grab my bag. SW_

_I’ve got your bag. I’m in the gym. JB_

_Of course you do. Alright. Let me get someone to babysit Scott and I’ll be down. SW_

_Sure JB_

Bucky sat back and stared at the wall. In a way, it was no different than what he had tried to tell Sam the first time they fucked when he had the tube. If he saw himself that way -- gross, broken, the farthest thing from sexy he could conjure -- then he knew it wasn’t a stretch for others to see him that way as well. Still, it stung. And part of his mind very quietly reminded Bucky that Steve wasn’t being to fair him. Bucky cynically reprimanded that small voice with the reality that fairness didn’t exist and, after seventy years with HYDRA, that should be obvious.

He knew he was getting worked up. Bucky’s stomach rolled and his chest ached just under his sternum. Rather than go and see Darlene in this state, Bucky focused on his breathing and waited for Sam. The last thing he wanted was to worry Sam’s mama or, even worse, have to explain himself.

The door clicked open and Bucky opened his eyes. Sam was standing there with his jacket on and a half a smile that looked sad rather than joyful. “Hey baby, you alright?”

Bucky smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I am now that you’re here.”

Bucky walked to Sam, who pulled him into a tight hug. 

“Come on. I ordered takeout so Mama doesn’t have to cook this late, but she’s waiting up for us, so we shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

*****

The peace of being with Sam’s family didn’t last twenty-four hours before they got the call. Since the emergency was downtown this time, it was faster for them to rendezvous by car rather than make the team wait for them back at the Tower.

Sam parked the car a few blocks out, and they sprinted to the Quinjet. Inside, they geared up and headed for their positions as the situation unfolded. By the time Bucky reached his post in a nearby building, he was high on adrenaline. Even scaling all thirty-six flights of stairs on foot hadn’t taken the edge off. 

But after six hours of being perched on the roof of a building adjacent to the UN, the edge was definitely gone, and Bucky was ready to declare this mission the single least eventful thing he had ever done. Of course, the comms were on the entire time, which meant that they couldn’t say anything to each other but still had to listen to Steve, Tony, Victor Von Doom, and Nikki Haley hack at something like diplomacy. 

When Natasha lost her patience, she detonated a contained nuclear EMP which temporarily shorted out everything in the building including the doombots, Doom’s suit, Tony’s suit, and the pacemaker of the Estonian delegate. Thankfully, Steve leapt into action, snatched the nearest AED, and had the Estonian delegate sitting up and talking by the time EMS got to him. 

Bucky felt like he should get the “I had more patience than Natasha Romanov” merit badge, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. 

Bucky and Sam caught a lift back to the Tower in the Quinjet, since it would be hours before the gridlock downtown would be alleviated enough to retrieve the car.

“Where’d you guys go?” Steve asked after everyone had gotten settled for the three minute flight.

Bucky wanted to shoot back something hurtful to Steve, but it didn’t seem worth it. “We went to see Darlene last night. We had a nice picnic with Sam’s sister and her family today.”

Steve’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Wow, I didn’t realize that you all knew each other.”

“Yeah, well when you _love_ someone, sometimes you treat them like it,” Sam snapped.

Everyone in the jet instantly went silent, and Steve hung his head but said nothing. Bucky was both embarrassed at Sam’s outburst and warmed to the bone at how Sam stuck up for him. Of course, by the time that they disembarked, Bucky was also grateful that he didn’t have to be on the plane any longer.

Everyone racked their gear in the ready room and stripped out of their uniforms. Some folks showered in the locker room and others made a beeline for the common where takeout was waiting.

Bucky didn’t really want to eat with everyone, but food was food, and he wasn’t dense enough to go back to the apartment and pout on an empty stomach.

*****

Steve lingered in the common after Bucky and Sam had left, hoping that he might come back to the apartment late enough to avoid their post mission sex and also to avoid having to speak to either of them. He succeed on the first count but failed on the second.

When he walked in, the apartment smelled like sex and febreze. Sam and Bucky were huddled together under a blanket watching Mystery Science Theater 3000 with a giant bowl of popcorn. 

“Hey guys,” Steve called out as he shut the door behind himself.

“Mmm,” Sam mumbled without turning around. 

Bucky made no indication that he noticed Steve. 

It was fair, Steve told himself. He’d turned Bucky down after leading him on, after all. Bucky had told him from the outset that this wasn’t something they could just try, but Steve had insisted. Fat lot of good that did.

He trudged into his room and took a shower. Steve stood under the spray, which was nearly boiling, and sagged. He knew Bucky was angry with him. It made sense but Steve still felt like he was missing something. Steve was sure that if he could just figure out the problem, he could make it better, and he resolved to go do just that when he got out of the shower. 

Sam and Bucky were still on the sofa when he came out, but the show was winding down and Steve sat down in one of the recliners to wait. He watched the strange gumball machine character angrily wave his arms about as the credits began to roll and wondered how Sam had the nerve to call Star Trek “weird” when he watched stuff like this.

“FRIDAY, fifty percent lights, please,” Bucky asked as the screen cut back to the Netflix homepage.

Steve swallowed, knowing that it was now or maybe never. “Hey, guys. I wanna talk. You got a minute?”

Sam pursed his lips and looked at Bucky, who nodded. With Bucky’s approval, Sam seemed momentarily appeased. 

“Look, I know I kind of ruined your day Friday-”

Bucky’s eyebrow shot up. “‘Kind of?’ Look, I said I wouldn’t bring it up again. So if it’s not something you want, fine. I get it. But why are we doing this?”

“Because you’re both pissed at me, and I want to fix it,” Steve explained.

“Some things don’t fix, Steve. I know you know that. Look at me,” Bucky snapped.

Sam turned a reproachful glare at Bucky and grabbed his hand tightly. 

Steve gaped. “You think that about yourself?”

Bucky snorted. “Of course, and so do you.”

“The hell I do!” Steve replied. “God, Buck, look what you just pulled through. Not many people could do what you’ve done -- or even have survived it in the first place.”

Somehow Bucky looked angrier than before. “So what then? Why’d you change your mind? Why, after me being so amazing or whatever you wanna call it, did you decide that this ‘isn’t a good idea?’”

Steve couldn’t figure out where this was going wrong at every single turn, but he was going to try. “Buck, I didn’t ‘just decide,’ I’ve been thinking about it for a while. You’ve got Sam, and he just gets you in ways that I don’t. You’re lucky to have each other. I don’t want to intrude on that.”

Sam put his head in his hand and Bucky’s mouth hung slightly open.

“You do know what an invitation is, right?” Bucky asked with a fair amount of incredulity.

“For fuck’s sake,” Sam muttered. “Is that what this is, Steve? Some ‘I’m not good enough even though I’m Captain America’ bullshit?”

“That’s exactly my point, Sam. You just proved it. Nobody ever assumes I’m good enough because I’m Steve Rogers. It’s only because I’m Captain America, because of the serum. It’s like Tony said, everything special about me came out of a bottle. I know he didn’t mean it, but it doesn’t mean he wasn’t right.”

“God, Steve, can you just shut up for a minute?” Bucky groaned. “Look, I palled around with your skinny ass before the war _because_ you were Steve, not for any other reason. Just because no one else could see it didn’t mean that they were right. I wasn’t waiting on you to beef up or something before I put the moves on you. Jesus, Steve.”

“I’m not what this is about right now,” Steve said. They were getting off topic and he didn’t want Bucky to deflect, because if they never got to the problem, he’d never be able to fix it.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure this is exactly what this mess is about,” Sam said.

“No, it’s not,” Steve argued.

“Steve, if your completely flawed self-perception isn’t what this is about, then I have no idea how I’ve gotten by in counselling so far. Look, you have some kind of worthiness complex. That night on the roof when you told me that you didn’t want to date because people would date you as Captain America instead of Steve Rogers, you really meant more than that didn’t you? You don’t think you have anything to offer but the serum and the shield.”

Steve shrugged. “I mean, when you put it like that, it sounds kind of bad, but, in essence, yeah.”

“Do you honestly think so little of people who are sick or disabled or elderly or whatever?” Sam asked.

“I- what?” Steve asked. He had no idea where this talk had gotten off to and had even less idea where it was going. Whatever was happening, Bucky seemed a hell of a lot calmer than he had all day, so he would keep going for that reason alone.

Sam continued to press. “Do you think that the disabled or sick or infirm -- whatever you want to call them -- do you honestly think that they don’t contribute to society in any way and that they aren’t worthy of love?” 

Steve was aghast that Sam somehow got that impression. “Of course not! Everyone is worthy of love and there are so many people with varying disabilities that do so much for society. Think of Helen Keller or Stephen Hawking. Look at FDR, he had polio, and-”

Sam waved his hand. “Yeah, I get it. Everyone has value. So why don’t _you_?”

“What?” Steve was completely lost. All the threads of the conversation that he felt like he had been following just evaporated. “No, of course not. I mean, I have a lot to offer someone.”

“Right,” Sam agreed, “but just not Bucky.”

“No, I- I-” Steve stammered and fell silent.

Sam leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “Look, you say you have nothing to offer but the serum and the shield, so that means that before the serum you were what, exactly?”

Steve swallowed. This was what he buried when he woke up first thing in the morning and thought about last before he went to sleep every night. “I couldn’t do anything for anyone. The only people who loved me were my ma and Bucky.” 

Sam nodded. “Right, and why was that?”

“I was a burden. I was always sick. Medicine cost a lot and Ma always had to take off work to care for me. When she missed work, we didn’t have enough money for medicine, much less food. Bucky took up as much of the slack as he could, but I always knew. And people talk. It wasn’t like I didn’t know what they said. Eugenics was pretty popular then, and it wasn’t hard to figure out how people felt about the sickly child of an immigrant.”

Bucky looked at his hands and Steve could see the profound sadness on Bucky’s face. “Bucky, it wasn’t your fault. I just- it’s just the way things were then. Hell, it’s the way things are now.”

Sam nodded and Bucky shook his head which, combined, confused the hell out of Steve.

“Doesn’t mean it was right what they said. You were always worth something, Steve,” Bucky countered, his voice soft.

“Look, you’ve got Sam and he’s got himself together. Bucky, I’m still barely pulling through some days.”

Sam shook his head. “Nah, man. You had some trouble. Honestly, who wouldn’t? But you got yourself in therapy and you worked it out. And yeah, some days it is still hard, but that doesn’t mean that you’re failing. You’ve got it together as much as any one of us.”

Steve shook his head and the guilt of failure and deceit weighed him down. “I- I relapsed during the reconditioning. Nat caught me. She made me call my therapist, and I had to set up a health plan with Bruce. I’m trying, but I’m not getting it right a lot of the time.”

Sam laughed the driest laugh Steve had ever heard. “That’s your big failing? Steve, when I got out after Riley died and the EXO program closed, I came back. I tried to make it in the world and I fucked up big. I tried the re-entry programs and counselling that they offer, but I washed out of the CPT program after two sessions. Couldn’t hack it. 

“I spent the next two and half years working odd jobs, eating at soup kitchens, sleeping in trashy hotel rooms and campgrounds, and basically trying to pretend that my problems weren’t problems, until one night I ended up getting my gun out and loading it. I sat there and looked at it for a couple of hours, trying to think what my folks would say when someone found my body and they told them. I tried to convince myself that I was saving them the trouble of dealing with my sorry ass. I didn’t believe they could ever love me again, not after some of the stuff I did over there. I don’t know why I didn’t do it, to be honest. There wasn’t some ‘aha moment’ or the Lord talking to me, I just thought, ‘maybe not today.’ Eventually ‘maybe not today’ became ‘I can’t live like this but I’m not ready to die,’ and I came back to the VA in DC. 

“I made it through the CPT program and got on the peer support route. I got stable and thought that maybe I could be someone to call home about, but when I did, it was almost more than I could handle. My mama said my dad had died, and I had missed the funeral because no one knew how to find me. It had been two years. My sister, I knew she had been seeing someone, she had gotten married and had two little girls. Steve, I missed so much. I nearly missed it all. 

“Look, man, it’s the trying that counts. You’re here. I think that means you’re doing the trying part right,” Sam concluded.

Bucky grabbed Sam’s hand and squeezed, and Steve had to fight the urge to gather Sam up in his arms. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to comfort Sam or himself, but he felt that for some reason or another that a hug was the answer. Instead, Steve fought back his tears and nodded.

“So no, Steve, you are not fucked up while the rest of have it together. We are all fucked up here,” Sam explained. “Some of us just got into therapy a bit sooner. But back to the point, which was that, what, you relapsed because you self-sacrificed to help Bucky? More of the ‘my value is tied to what I can do for others’ bullshit?”

Steve nodded but didn’t speak, because he knew his voice would crack if he tried, so Sam went on.

“And now what? You’re hiding from this because you don’t think you’re worth loving?”

Steve didn’t answer and, predictably, Sam waited. Finally, though, Steve couldn’t bear the pressure of Sam and Bucky’s silence. 

“No one loved me but Ma and Bucky until after the serum. Dr. Erskine only chose me because I had potential, but not because I was already someone worthwhile. Peggy, the Howlies, SHIELD, the Avengers, Sharon -- none of them ever would have looked twice at me before the serum. I had nothing to offer. And I’m not the serum. I’m just me. I still am under all of this,” Steve gestured to his body. “Why would I ever believe any differently than they did? One person out of everyone else in the world? What are the chances that Bucky’s the one who’s right?”

Bucky smiled sadly at Steve. “Yeah, that’s kinda the point, Stevie. If you were suddenly anyone else underneath it, you wouldn’t be you. Erskine chose you because he knew you were good enough to handle the responsibility of the serum, not because you weren’t good enough as you were. It’s precisely the person you are underneath ‘all that,’ that I like. You’re only good at being Captain America because of who you were to start with.”

Steve let Bucky’s words settle over him, and he suddenly felt like all the air in the room had been sucked out. Bucky couldn’t be right. He couldn’t. It didn’t seem reasonable that Steve was wrong about himself all this time, but what Bucky was saying made logical sense. Bucky always made logical sense when Steve couldn’t, so it stood to reason that Bucky was right about this too, but the flood of emotions was so overwhelming that Steve started to feel like he couldn’t catch his breath. Everytime he tried to get a handle on what he believed about himself, he realized that Bucky thought something entirely different, and it got harder and harder to breathe.

Steve was aware of someone calling his name, but it felt small and far away. He knew when Bucky and Sam gently pulled him to the floor and settled him between Bucky’s legs, his chest at Steve’s back, but it felt like he was watching it happen to someone else, like he was separate from what was happening to his body. Sam had Steve’s hand pressed against his chest. Dimly, Steve could feel the warmth of Sam’s skin seeping through his shirt as it pressed against his palm.

“Hey, Steve, nod if you can hear me,” Sam ordered.

After a moment Steve managed to pull himself back into his body enough to nod and Sam went on. “Good, I want you to breathe with me, alright? You’re having an anxiety attack, so just follow my lead here.”

Steve managed another nod and followed Sam’s instructions. 

_In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. Hold for four. And again._

Steve listened to Sam, and after what seemed like ages, but was probably only minutes, Sam gently lowered Steve’s hand but didn’t let go.

“You alright?” Sam asked.

Steve sagged into Bucky but nodded. “I think I’ve got it together now. Thanks, Sam.”

“You ready to talk about what happened, or do you need a minute?” Sam prodded.

Steve finally took his hand back from Sam and scrubbed both hands over his face. “I think I need a little bit.”

Sam nodded. “I’m getting some water. Either of you want any?

Steve could feel Bucky nod against his shoulder and Steve managed to rasp out a “please” before Sam got up to rummage in the fridge. He returned with several bottles of cold water, and Steve gratefully drank a whole bottle immediately. 

The three of them sat in companionable silence for about twenty minutes before Sam spoke.

“Hey, I think we all ought to hit the sack. We’re all tired, and I think it would be best to continue this after some rest. Sound alright to you?” Sam asked Steve.

Steve was immensely grateful for the reprieve. He didn’t think that he could make it through much more talking without another anxiety attack, he was still running pretty high, and he felt utterly drained of every ounce of energy in a way that he hadn’t felt since before the serum.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Steve answered.

Sam stood up and let Bucky offer Steve a hand up. 

“Come on, punk. I’m gonna crash in your bed tonight,” Bucky announced.

Steve’s eyes went wide, “Buck, I don’t-”

Bucky pushed Steve’s shoulder. “I ain’t got the energy for that. Sleep. That’s all we’re doing. We’ve shared plenty of beds and bedrolls. Don’t get weird on me now, Rogers.”

Steve smiled weakly. “Yeah, okay. Come on then.”

Bucky smiled and pushed Steve toward his bedroom. “See you in the morning, bird brains,” he called to Sam.

“Love you too, asshole. Night, Steve,” Sam called back.

“Night, Sam. Thanks again,” Steve returned weakly.

Bucky stripped down to his boxers in short order and Steve did the same. Steve and Bucky didn’t bother with any night time hygiene rituals besides a piss before bed. Steve didn’t really know what to do at first, which felt weird since he was in his own bed, but when Bucky’s fingers brushed against his hand Steve figured it out. Or, rather, the situation figured itself out. In the same way as the panic attack, Steve wasn’t really party to how he got where he ended up, which was curled alongside Bucky with his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky had his arm wrapped around Steve’s back and his cheek rested on top of Steve’s head.

Steve knew that he wasn’t having an anxiety attack, but his chest still felt tight. He realized after a moment that the tightness was sorrow, which he did not expect. As he lay there, he realized that the last time that he had really felt someone’s skin against his was when he had kissed Sharon, and that honestly wasn’t saying much. It had been, Steve took a moment to mentally calculate, seventy-five years since someone touched him skin-to-skin, even then it was only Bucky helping him bathe after a bout with the flu. 

Sam had said something to him during the reconditioning, that people needed physical contact just like they needed food and water. So Steve had held Bucky and touched him as often as he could during the reconditioning so that Bucky could have as much comfort as possible. But when it came to himself, Steve had pushed that information away. Honestly, he had never even thought to apply it to himself. The focus was Bucky, and Steve had been throwing everything he had towards that, even himself. Now, though, he realized what he had been missing for so long. His lungs hurt because it felt like breathing again after being trapped underwater, until all the air had turned to fire… or ice. The first breath, the one he had long since given up on, was burning through him and lighting up the nerves on every inch of skin.

Bucky pulled him closer and rubbed both hands over him, the cold of the metal one just as intense as the heat from his flesh hand. “It’s okay, pal. I got ya. I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”

Steve nodded weakly and clutched at Bucky all the more. Steve could feel the tears on his face, and he knew that he had to be crying, but he felt disconnected from it and so tired. It didn’t take long, with Bucky still murmuring reassurances into his hair, for Steve to fall asleep.

*****

An hour or so before sunrise, Bucky finally managed to disentangle himself from Steve without waking him. He snagged some pajamas from his room and made his way to the kitchen. He felt out of sorts about the past thirty-six hours. The high of getting his letter, the low of getting rejected, the comforts of family, the aborted adrenaline rush of a shitty mission, and then Steve -- it all left Bucky feeling pretty wrung out. It was kind of like having whiplash.

Bucky cooked some sausage in a skillet while throwing cream cheese, parmesan, and sour cream in with chard he’d grabbed from the farmers’ market. Once the greens were all cooked down, he layered the sausage, greens, and a few other things with cheese and eggs and popped it in the oven. 

He set the timer and plodded into the living room. The sky was still dark, but he laid down in Steve’s spot on the floor and watched the dimly lit clouds. Bucky heard the shower come on in Sam’s room, and shortly after that, Steve wandered out in pajama pants. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said as he flopped down beside Bucky.

“Hey, Stevie.”

“Everything alright? You’re kind of laying in my depression spot,” Steve pointed out.

Bucky chuckled. “I’m fine, just thinking.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Bucky shrugged. On one hand he didn’t want to talk about it, but on the other he wanted, _needed_ , to know. “I was thinking about when you turned me down, about why you did it. It was because of the shit we talked about last night, wasn’t it?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Steve tense. “Yeah, I think it might have been. I’m still sorting all that out. It’s kind of a lot…. Why? What’d you think it was?”

Bucky shrugged like it didn’t matter what he thought, and Steve nudged him with a foot.

“Come on,” cajoled Steve.

Bucky sighed. “I thought, after all the reconditioning, I mean you can only hold someone’s hair back while they puke so many times before they’re just gross. It was pathetic, Steve, you holding me on the kitchen floor while I had seizures and shit. I just figured… I don’t know. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Steve rolled over, his face in Bucky’s line of sight. “That is the farthest thing from the truth. I hated how awful you felt going through that, I hated how much you suffered, but you were always so strong. I just- I remember that night when we came back from the mission and you had tried to recondition yourself-”

“Oh God,” Bucky groaned.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, “it was kind of an awful situation. You were trying so hard to get better, harder than I can really understand. But I walked in and immediately made it worse, and then Sam sat you down and walked you right out of it, and I just thought how good for you he is. I can’t begin to compete with that, with who he is for you and what he can give you.”

“It’s not a competition,” Bucky cut in. “Relationships aren’t about who can give what. You just care because you care. And you think you didn’t give me anything? You were there for at least two-thirds of the shit in the kitchen. You let me fall apart on you. I mean, I can do that with Sam, but his togetherness is so hard won. It’s like this shield that he carries sometimes, and he always expects you to try, and sometimes what I want, what I need, is just to be allowed to fall apart and know that someone is there to catch me.

“The first day when we started the reps and you put the tube back, Sam never would have done that. He would have sat there with me until I got it somewhat together, handed it to me, and told me to ‘get to it.’ And yeah, in general, it was something I needed to do for myself. But right then, what you did was right. You let me feel like when I got that low, that you would catch me and help me put it all back together without judgment. Steve, I _needed_ that. I needed you every bit as much as I needed Sam, still do.”

“Oh.” 

It sounded to Bucky like the syllable was forced out of Steve, like the “oof” from a punch to the gut. Steve’s breathing went sharp and forced, and Bucky rolled over and snatched Steve’s hand, pressing against his chest. “Hey, we’re not doing that again. Breathe with me.”

While they lay there, Bucky heard Sam quietly slip out to the kitchen and sit at the table. When the timer on the oven went off, Sam turned it off and pulled the quiches out to cool on the stovetop. Around the time that the smell of breakfast wafted into the living room, Steve pulled his hand away. 

“Thanks, Buck. I probably need to learn to do that on my own,” Steve observed.

Bucky smiled. “Probably, yeah. Do you not have anxiety attacks? I’ve never seen you have them, but then it’s not something that people tend to advertise.”

Steve shook his head. “Never had one until last night.”

Bucky sat up and Steve followed. “Well, if you can help it, I’d advise not making a habit of it.”

“Oh gee, thanks, doc. I had no idea it could be a bad thing,” Steve shot back with amusement.

They stood up to walk to the kitchen and Sam called, “Yeah, well your sense of sarcasm is still firmly intact, so I’d say you’ll be fine, Rogers.”

Steve hung his head a little and laughed. Bucky patted him on the back as they walked.

*****

After breakfast, they spent the day huddled up on the sofa. Everyone still had to write their reports from the debacle with Doom the previous day. Sam and Bucky were happy to have very little to put in their reports, since they spent the entire operation camped out on rooftops doing exactly nothing. Steve, on the other hand, spent four hours writing his. He pulled on his headphones and worked while Sam and Bucky ate popcorn and watched more of the show with the gumball machine robot. Finally, he set the tablet and his headphones between his and Sam’s feet on the coffee table.

“You finish it?” Sam asked.

Steve nodded and groaned. “I wish Doom would just find another hobby.”

“Don’t we all,” Sam agreed.

“We’re lucky the Estonian ambassador isn’t pressing charges,” Steve muttered. “I wouldn’t want to deal with that.”

Bucky’s brow creased. “He’s not? He had to go have the battery replaced. I mean, that’s open heart surgery, right? I’d be mad as hell, if it were me.”

Steve shrugged. “He sent Hill an email, which she forwarded to me. Basically, he was going in next month to get it replaced anyway, so he wasn’t terribly upset. He even mentioned something about how impressed he was my diplomacy with ‘that pompous windbag from Latveria.’” Steve made finger quotes as he spoke.

Sam snorted. “He’s not wrong.”

Steve stretched. “So what’re the plans for today? I’m not feeling up to much.”

Bucky shrugged. “Depends on you.”

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m thinking that getting some ice cream is about all I’m up for right now.”

The three of them pulled on more presentable clothes and some shoes and made their way down. They were nearly to the lobby when FRIDAY rerouted the elevator. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt your plans, but there’s an emergent situation in Hyderabad. Director Hill has sent orders to deploy. Briefing will occur en route.”

Sam, Bucky, and Steve all groaned in unison.

*****

After a mission as long and emotionally taxing as the one they had just left, no one was particularly cheery. Seeing the locals under some form of mind control was personal enough for most of the team to be emotionally wrung out. But when victims turned into the aggressors, it meant that not everyone could be saved. Killing was never easy, but it was harder knowing that those people hadn’t deserved it. The guilt that they carried back with them was heavier than normal and no one hung around the common, going instead to their apartments to process alone.

Sam, Steve, and Bucky trudged in the door to their apartment and then all paused, staring awkwardly at one another through the haze of exhaustion and trauma.

As usual, Steve was the first to break the silence. “I’m gonna go wash up and hit the sack. Have a good time, you two.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Really? ‘Have a good time, you two?’ That’s it?”

Steve paused and stared. “What else should I be saying?”

“Maybe, ‘oh hey, mind if I join in.’ That’s an option,” Bucky replied.

“Buck, I don’t know. I’m not-”

“You’re not what? You’re not into men? We’ve kissed, and you liked it, so that’s not it. You’re not interested in interfering? Again, that’s why this is called an invitation. That leaves your personal favorite: ‘I don’t deserve it’ with a side of ‘Bucky doesn’t know what he’s doing by spending his time on me.’ Which, thank you, I do know what I’m doing, and you do deserve it. And hey, I get it. I was nervous the first time I was with another fella, too. So if that’s the issue, just _tell us_ , but you’ll never feel like you can be loved until you let someone do it. So, have I covered all your objections?”

“I- I guess that more or less covers it,” Steve admitted sheepishly. There was a distinct blush on his cheeks that was steadily gaining territory on his ears and down his neck.

Bucky went to Steve and slipped his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling them close. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he could feel Steve’s pulse where his forearms rested against Steve’s shoulders. After a moment, Steve put his hands on Bucky’s hips and shuddered out a breath.

“You don’t have to do anything. No kissing, no touching, nothing if you don’t want to. Just stop staying out here. We can tone it down in there, alright?” Bucky promised.

Steve swallowed hard. “What if-” he paused and swallowed again. “What if I want to?”

“Then we’ll make it good,” Sam replied. 

Bucky and Steve turned to see Sam smiling. It wasn’t Sam’s usual smile after a mission, predatory and needy at once, ready to drag some sort of proof of life back into their bones after the trauma of battle. Instead, Sam’s face was gentle and kind. Bucky almost thought he could feel the warmth radiating off Sam. Judging by the look on Steve’s face, Bucky thought that Steve could feel it too.

“Come on, pal,” Bucky coaxed.

Steve followed as Bucky pulled away and led him gently by his hand to Bucky’s room. Sam plodded off to the bathroom and returned with a handful of washcloths, which he tossed on the nightstand.

Bucky had already pulled Steve over to sit on the edge of the bed and was gently kissing him. 

“You sure you’re alright with this, Stevie?” Bucky whispered.

“Yeah, Buck. Yeah, I am.”

Bucky smiled at the breathless quality of Steve’s voice and pulled his own shirt off. Steve quickly followed suit. 

The bed dipped and Bucky and Steve looked over in unison to see Sam, already naked, sitting up against the headboard.

“What? Take your time,” Sam replied.

Bucky smirked. “Come on, Stevie. This is usually a clothes-free activity.”

Bucky stood and shucked his uniform pants and briefs and Steve did the same. Steve followed Bucky onto the bed and paused as Bucky gestured towards Sam, who spread his legs. Bucky suppressed the urge to pick on Steve for his obvious hesitation and instead gently pushed him back towards Sam until he was resting with his back against Sam’s chest and Sam’s legs bracketing him. Bucky managed to wiggle his knees between Sam’s legs and Steve’s so that he was nearly sitting in Steve’s lap. 

Steve looked like he was about to balk the moment he got settled, so Bucky started kissing him again. Slowly, Sam rested his hands against Steve’s sides and then spread them to his chest. 

The breathless little gasp Steve made when Sam’s hands gained territory had Bucky smiling into the kiss and Sam mouthing along the side of Steve’s neck. Bucky figured that one roving set of hands was enough for Steve’s brain at that moment and firmly planted one on Steve’s hip and the other on the back of his head.

Sam strayed down to Steve’s collarbone and he stifled a small laugh.

“Ticklish?” Sam asked.

Steve nodded with a small smile. “Yeah.”

Steve had one hand threaded into Bucky’s hair and the other grasped at Sam’s right thigh. When Sam gently thumbed over a nipple, Steve writhed and moaned. So Sam did it again. And again.

As Sam gently tortured Steve’s nipples, Bucky could feel Steve hard between them, and he slipped a hand off Steve to grope around under a pillow for the ever-present bottle of lube. When he had located the bottle, Bucky sat back. 

Steve was a sight to behold. His hair, which had remained unnaturally perfect for the duration of their earlier mission, was tousled and sticking up, damp with sweat. There were various marks on Steve’s neck and shoulders which Sam had clearly put there, though Bucky had been too distracted to notice at the time. But what Bucky loved the most was the way that Steve’s eyes were blown wide, only the tiniest slivers of blue remaining.

Bucky flipped open the bottle cap and poured some of the clear liquid into his flesh palm and coated his fingers before putting the bottle down. When Steve finally realized his intentions, Bucky could tell, because his mouth opened in a silent “oh.”

Reaching forward, Bucky took Steve in hand and began to stroke. Bucky was torn between kissing Steve and watching the way his breath went ragged, and his control unwound just a little bit more every time Sam flicked his nipple or bit his neck. When Sam licked the shell of Steve’s ear, he moaned outright, turning his head to kiss Sam for the first time. 

Bucky was lost to the sight. Sam had been right. Bucky didn’t realize how much he had wanted Steve like this until he had him. It was both amazing and heartbreaking to see how desperate Steve could be. It was the desperation that he and Sam had after a mission where one of them was injured or almost didn’t make it, but for Steve, it was different. Bucky knew the desperation wasn’t just Steve coming off a dry spell or just being back from a mission. Steve was coming off of a lifetime without believing he could be loved. 

“Buck, I’m not gonna last long,” he panted and Bucky picked up the pace, adding a little twist at the end which had Steve moaning unabashedly.

“Just come whenever you’re ready, Steve. There’s no points for endurance,” murmured Bucky.

Steve’s eyes were screwed shut, but a sudden, and rather vicious pinch to one of his nipples had Steve’s eyes popping open. Bucky smiled as Sam repeated the action on the other side and Steve tumbled over the edge with a strangled shout. 

Bucky slowed the pace and stroked him through it until Steve hissed at the overstimulation and then let go. Steve was leaning against Sam who was holding Steve firmly against his chest and resting his cheek against Steve’s. Bucky snagged the washcloths from the nightstand and stuffed his hand in one of the drawers for the wet wipes. It was easy enough to clean off his hand and the mess on Steve’s stomach. When he was done, Bucky sat back to admire the look of wrecked Steve. Instead, he was greeted with a look which conflicted strongly with how someone should look after a good orgasm.

“Bucky,” Steve breathed.

His eyes were wide and the haze of his orgasm was rapidly fading. Bucky could see the vulnerability seep in.

“Hey,” Bucky leaned forward and kissed Steve, running his hands on Steve’s arms. “Hey, Stevie. Hey, what’s wrong?”

*****

Steve sat up, and Sam hesitantly pulled his hands down to settle on Steve’s hips, keeping contact but not holding him. The contact felt good, but it also felt _wrong_.

What was wrong was a big question. Everything seemed wrong. It was a mistake. This would end soon and then what would he have? The knowledge of what it was like to be loved, _finally_ , only to have it taken away? And why was Steve the center of it all? Shouldn’t Bucky and Sam be enjoying themselves? The warm weight of Sam’s hands on his hips made his chest ache with the guilt that he had allowed them to take care of him while he did nothing for either of them. He hadn’t earned that from Sam or Bucky.

“Stevie, hey, pal? Talk to me,” Bucky said as he rubbed his palm over Steve’s thigh. His face was creased with worry and Steve mentally berated himself for being the cause of that as well.

Mustering as much mental balance as he could, Steve looked up and Bucky’s eyes. “I’m fine. What about you and Sam?”

Bucky frowned but didn’t argue. “We’ve got our plans,” Bucky paused and Steve could tell he was evaluating. He could also tell when Bucky reached a conclusion. 

“This isn’t tit for tat, Steve. We do it because we want to and because we like to see each other happy. That’s it. Now come on, Sam’s bottoming, and he makes the prettiest faces when you hold him where he can’t touch himself.”

Steve could get behind the idea of repaying Sam, and he turned to see Sam’s dark skin overlayed with the slightest red hue. At least he wouldn’t be the only one blushing, Steve thought as he wriggled the rest of the way out of Sam’s lap.

Sam laid down on the bed and lifted his ass up while Bucky stuffed a couple of pillows under him. Steve took the opportunity to get a good look at Sam. It wasn’t that he’d never seen Sam naked. They’d been on a lot of missions and spent a lot of time in backwoods parts of Eastern Europe where sometimes the only bath to be had was in a stream. They were both military, neither of them cared. But looking at Sam like this, spread out on the bed with Bucky gently rubbing lubed up fingers over his asshole, was a bit different -- and not in a bad way.

“Watch his face, Stevie,” Bucky ordered. Steve could tell Bucky was getting off on the way Sam squirmed under both of their gazes. He could also see exactly when Bucky’s finger finally pushed inside, because Sam’s breathing hitched and his eyes fluttered shut.

“God, you’re ready for this aren’t you?” chuckled Bucky. 

“Yeah,” agreed Sam.

Steve saw Bucky’s lips quirk into a smile, and Bucky met his eyes with a look of glee. “Want another, Sammy?”

Sam moaned and nodded, “Please.”

“Well since you asked so nicely…”

Sam moaned again, louder this time, as Bucky pushed in two fingers. Steve admired the planes of Sam’s body as he tensed and and flexed, clenching his fingers in the bedspread as Bucky worked. When Bucky spread his fingers, Sam hissed at the stretch, and Steve had to wonder about the appeal of this, if it was so uncomfortable. That concern was rapidly eliminated when Bucky finally pushed in far enough to hit Sam’s prostate and, with a gasp, Sam’s hips bucked up off the bed. 

Steve watched Sam’s fingers knot tighter in the bedspread. His cock glistened from the precome that had started drip out while Bucky intermittently rubbed his prostate. Steve could definitely admit that watching Sam come apart was gorgeous. Steve watched Sam’s face as he tried to keep his hands down. He had his eyes fixed on the ceiling, like having a directed focus that was not his body would help. Steve figured that it probably did, since he still hadn’t touched himself. 

He wondered if that was a rule or not, that Sam couldn’t touch himself until Bucky said so. It seemed mean but Sam seemed to be undone and he sure wasn’t complaining, so Steve didn’t say anything.

When Bucky added a third finger, Sam moaned loudly and writhed on the bed. 

“Please,” Sam begged.

Bucky smiled and shook his head. “Not yet baby.”

Sam groaned with frustration and then moaned again as Bucky twisted his fingers. Steve knew exactly when Bucky had lit upon an idea, because his mouth twisted into a devious little smile. 

“How about Steve hold your hands?” suggested Bucky.

Clearly, this was a winning idea, because Sam’s eyes went wide, his mouth opened slightly, and he nodded. For his part, Steve was glad to have something to do, so he took both wrists and pinned them to the bed above Sam’s head using only his right hand. Sam gave a couple little experimental tugs but quickly gave up. Steve was surprised to see him sag into the bed like he was relieved not to be able to get away. 

Bucky shifted on the bed, and Steve looked up to see him rolling on a condom and slicking himself. He lifted Sam’s legs and pushed forward enough to lift him off the pillows he had rested on.

“God baby, please. Come on, Bucky,” Sam babbled. 

Bucky beamed and pushed forward just a fraction of an inch and Sam’s head rolled. Steve could see that bit by bit Bucky was pushing his way into Sam until he sat flush up against his ass. Steve wondered what it felt like to be Sam right now. To be held down and to be willingly at the mercy of Bucky and Steve. To have someone’s dick up his ass. But mostly to be looked like that, like Bucky thought Sam was the best steak he ever laid eyes on. To be wanted like that. 

Or maybe Steve wanted to be Bucky, where someone was willing to let you stretch their asshole open and put their dick in it. Just because they wanted to be that much closer to you. What would it be like to be wanted that much or to want someone that much?

Steve guessed he already knew the answer to the second. Judging by the looks on Sam’s face, and the many previous times either of them had bottomed that he had heard, Steve was pretty sure it was a decent experience. But pleasure aside, he already knew that he would lie down like that for Bucky, either of them, really, just to be close. 

It was a raw feeling that wasn’t at all the warmth of love. It hurt deep in chest in the same way that he felt when he thought about the possibility of anyone loving him. The ache of thinking back to Brooklyn. The ache of the false love of the Howlies and Peggy and the Avengers and everyone else who loved him for the serum and the shield blossomed in his chest. He remembered all the times he had wanted to feel like he felt right then. All the years that suddenly felt that much more empty now that he knew what he had been missing. He was so grateful for what they had done for him, that he had been given even a moment to know, _to feel_. It was a debt he could never repay.

Steve was jolted out of his thoughts.

“Put your hand out,” Bucky ordered, smiling. 

Steve did as requested, and Bucky poured a generous of lube amount into Steve’s palm, all without slowing down as he fucked Sam. 

“Go slow at first and stop if he seems like he might come. I want him to last,” Bucky explained.

Turnabout was fair play, Steve reasoned, and he worked the the lube around his hand to spread it out. Not allowing himself a chance to think, he wrapped his hand around Sam’s dick and pulled slowly up the shaft. He felt Sam flex under him, enough so that he would have bucked up off the bed if Bucky hadn’t been holding him down.

Sam moaned with abandon as Bucky fucked him and Steve stroked him. Bucky’s face was tight in places and slack in others as he moved. Sweat beaded on his skin, and Steve watched Bucky bare himself in ways that Steve never imagined. 

For all the talk of taking Sam apart, Bucky was coming apart just as much. And he was letting Steve see it without reservation. Steve tried to focus on Sam, who did admittedly look gorgeous under Steve’s hands, but his attention continued to drift back to Bucky, who kept murmuring assurances to Sam. 

Steve could see Sam absorb the praise, the reassurances that he was doing great, the promise that the could take it, just hold out a little longer baby, being so good for me, just letting Stevie hold you there, we gotcha don’t we Stevie. And this was it. This was what Steve wanted. With both of them. To break them down and build them up. To be broken down and built up. To be loved and to be alive. 

Sam’s need built higher each time he started to get close and Steve slowed his strokes and loosened his grip. By the time Bucky finally came, Sam was panting and writhing. His words were gone. All he could pant were Steve and Bucky’s names. 

Bucky pushed through his own orgasm as Steve stroked Sam faster and harder, shoving him screaming over the edge. Finally, Steve and Bucky stilled. Bucky leaned forward over Sam, resting his hands on either side of him. 

Slowly, Steve let off Sam wrists and took each one gently in his own hands to rub them. There were finger shaped bruises on Sam’s wrists that would be visible for a least a week. Steve felt only mildly guilty as he rubbed them, it wasn’t a serious injury, and Sam groaned in pleasure as Steve gently kneaded them.

After a moment, Bucky gathered a few brain cells to scrape together and rolled off Sam onto the bed. He immediately wrapped himself around Sam’s torso.

“You alright, Sammy? We were a little rough with you.”

Sam smiled, eyes still closed, and shook his head. “Nah, baby. It was perfect. Never had it so good.” 

Steve’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. _Never had it so good._ Steve wanted so badly to believe that, somehow, he had done that for Sam, but he just wasn’t sure.

As if he could hear Steve’s thoughts, Sam turned to him. “What about you? You alright Steve?”

Steve swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Bucky propped himself on an elbow behind Sam and looked at Steve. “Whatcha thinking, Stevie?”

Steve looked away from them, taking in the creases on the bedspread from where Sam’s hands had bunched the fabric before Steve had pinned them to the bed. 

“I’m just a little overwhelmed,” he admitted.

Sam opened his eyes and his eyebrows went up. “Oh, ‘just a little?’ Seems like maybe a bit more than that.”

Steve nodded his head to the side. “Probably. I just… I don’t know.”

Bucky sat up a little higher and his face lost of the relaxed happiness it had. “Look Steve, we ain’t got secrets in here, not about this. You gotta talk.” 

Steve noticed that Bucky’s voice ended up much more Brooklyn after sex, and he filed that away for later. “It’s good, it’s so much _more_ than I could have ever imagined. I- thank you for inviting me.”

Bucky smiled and Sam reached a hand out to Steve, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him down. “Thank you for taking us up on it.”

Steve followed the pull of Sam’s hand, and Sam lifted himself from the bed to meet him halfway. Following the cues Sam gave him, Steve slipped a hand under Sam’s head to support him and met his lips. Steve couldn’t really think about what he was doing or why but it was comforting and right to kiss Sam. 

When Sam broke the kiss and gracelessly flopped back to bed Steve followed him and laid down. The ceiling was blessedly blank. It seemed like the most input he could handle at the moment. He registered movement as Bucky got off the bed and got what he needed to clean himself and Sam, but he was still surprised when Bucky laid down on the other side of him, bracketing Steve between Sam and himself. 

Steve’s mind lit up like a Christmas tree, but no coherent thought came through as Bucky pushed Steve up on his side to spoon with him. The heat of Bucky’s skin on his felt like a brand, like the impression of Bucky’s body would forever be burned onto his skin. He felt like if it wasn’t burned into his skin, it would at least be burned into his soul. 

From in front of Steve, Sam scooted closer and burrowed into Steve’s chest, and Steve felt like he had no choice but to wrap his arms around Sam. 

In between the both of them, Steve settled. It was safe and warm, and he didn’t want to think any more about it than that. Tomorrow. He would think tomorrow. Until then, he figured the best thing he could do was enjoy it while it lasted.

*****

Steve was still asleep when Bucky snuck out to the kitchen to find Sam.

“Hey baby,” Sam called from the kitchen table.

Bucky smiled and dropped a kiss on the top of Sam’s head as he passed by. “Hey Sammy.”

Bucky got out the Bisquick and whipped up a batch of lazy pancakes. It didn’t take him ten minutes to have a stack of thirty pancakes and about ten scrambled eggs. Sam got up and plated himself some food alongside Bucky.

“What’s on your mind, Bucky?” Sam asked.

Bucky set his plate at the table and turned back for the syrup. “Just thinking.”

“About what what?” asked Sam.

Bucky shrugged. “Steve, I guess. He’s been coming to bed with us after every mission for the past two months. You think he’ll ever believe he deserves it?”

Sam’s lips pulled thin and he set his glass of orange juice on the table. “One day, but not anytime soon. He’s getting better about it though.”

“You think?” 

Bucky wanted to believe that Steve was getting better, but when he could see the guilt on Steve’s face every time that they took care of him, Bucky wasn’t so sure that Sam was right. 

“Yeah, man I do. Steve’s come to me with some shit, let me talk to Bruce about his health stuff. He’s levelling out. His weight’s stabilizing, and his last set of blood panels looks better. He can’t fake that shit,” Sam reasoned.

Bucky let out a sigh and nodded. Sam would know better than him anyway. 

They ate breakfast together and sat at the table pecking out their reports on their tablets. Eventually, Steve made his way out and plated up the remaining breakfast food with a foggy morning “hello.” Bucky knocked knees with Steve under the table while he ate, bringing a smile to both their faces.

After Steve put his empty plate in the sink he sat back down at the table. “Well, have we got any plans for today?”

Sam smiled like the cat that got the cream. “I got an idea.”

Steve nodded, “Sure.”

“My family is having a picnic. You wanna come meet them?” Sam offered.

Bucky nearly melted with joy. This was as good as it got from Sam. It was everything that he had to offer besides himself. Bucky intended to make sure Steve understood that, too.

“Yeah, that sounds great actually,” Steve replied. He looked happy and sad all at once. Bucky understood. After they lost everything and everyone, family was something they tried to move on from, never expecting to have it again. It was hell of an offer, and Bucky recognized exactly how Steve was feeling right then. He slipped his hand into Steve’s and smiled reassuringly. 

Sam picked up his phone was already texting. “Mama and Alicia want us to bring some extra food, since they know how much Bucky eats. Mama says she ‘ain’t got time to cook for both of y’all.’” 

Bucky smiled and chuckled. “That seems fair. Are we gonna take the girls their birthday presents?”

“Birthday presents?” Steve asked with concern.

“Yeah, their birthdays are only two weeks apart, and they had a joint party that we missed when we ran that op in Johannesburg last week,” explained Sam, looking a little rueful. 

Steve had that look of earnest contemplation. “Should I get them something? Can I?”

Bucky did his best to swallow his chuckles.

Sam smiled so big that it looked like it hurt and nodded. “We’ve got time to go pick something up, if you want. I’ll ask Alicia and Tre what they would like.” 

Steve positively beamed. “Thanks, Sam.”

They got ready to go and headed out early to hit a couple of toy stores and pick up some food to take to the park. Bucky nodded meaningfully at Sam as they left the apartment. Sam suddenly realized that he “forgot something” and turned back, leaving Bucky and Steve in the hall alone.

“So Steve, you excited?” asked Bucky even though he already knew the answer.

Steve bounced a little on the balls of his feet and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I am.”

Bucky nodded. “Do you believe us now?”

Steve immediately stilled and tipped his head sideways as he stared at Bucky. “What do you mean? Believe what?”

“That you’re worth it. That you can be loved for who you are,” Bucky clarified.

Steve stared into middle space before nodding. “Yeah, I think I’m getting there.”

“Good, because you know this thing with Sam’s family? He’d never invite you if you were just Captain America. He’s inviting you to be around his family, his nieces. That means he trusts you to be good for them. A good person, not just a good soldier. You follow me?”

Steve nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I follow.”

Bucky continued. “So this? This is as good as Sam buying you a ring. This matters more to him than anything else. Don’t cheapen it for him or for you.”

Bucky watched Steve’s face crumple the way it did when his ingrained self-doubts were challenged, but after a moment he swallowed and nodded. It took Steve another few deep breaths and a lot of blinking before he was ready to speak. 

“Thanks for letting me know, Buck.”

Bucky nodded and put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed. A second later, Sam returned from the apartment, having located the set of keys that he hadn’t actually misplaced the first time around. They made their way out of the Tower and into the press of people. 

Bucky didn’t have a whole lot of positives to list about what had gotten him to this point in his life, but he did have a list of positives about this point in his life, maybe more than he’d ever had. He’d lost his arm, his mind, and his family. He’d been to war, tortured, experimented on, and forced to kill. Those hurts had never gone away, and he knew that they never would. But he had also learned that love, and the ability to be loved, were not finite resources. Bucky knew that he could grieve and love at the same time. His heart would always grow to accommodate the people he loved. It was a hard-fought lesson, and one that he guarded jealously. He wanted desperately to share it with Steve, but Bucky knew, too, that it was something Steve would have to learn in his own time. 

And time was something that they had, Bucky realized. They didn’t have an easy job or a safe one, but for the first time in their lives, they weren’t facing disease, hunger, and war. It made the time that they had now seem like it could go on long enough for them to really make something together. 

Bucky thought back to the conversation with Sam that morning. That Steve was getting better, and that he trusted Sam enough to come to him, gave Bucky hope. If nothing else, Steve seemed to have latched onto the idea that Sam and Bucky might be right. Bucky knew that Steve didn’t have to believe in a mission’s success for him to throw himself in head first. If for no other reason than stubbornness, Steve would eventually come around.

They were standing at a crosswalk waiting on the light to change when Steve slipped his arm around Bucky’s waist. Bucky found himself pleasantly surprised, and he happily returned the gesture. Bucky knew the things the media said about Captain America not finding a nice girl to settle down with, and he knew it got to Steve. But now, Steve was very publically claiming Bucky as his own, embracing his same gender loving relationship without the usual self-flagellation. 

Bucky wondered what other small miracles the three of them could accomplish. Together.


End file.
